


Closure: Forgetting Mary Winchester

by BenLMoore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel's origin story, Episode s01e13 continued, F/M, Flashbacks, John Winchester does not approve, Lonely Sam, Multi, Nosy Neighbors, OFC-child - Freeform, OMC - Freeform, Oral Sex, Original Angel - Freeform, Rogue Guardian Angel, Sam's Powers, Spells & Enchantments, Threesome, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:43:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 44,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9860918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenLMoore/pseuds/BenLMoore
Summary: There's a perfectly good reason Sam and Dean never mention Cassie Robinson.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What the hell ever happened to Cassie Robinson? Dean's first love, Sam approves and then, poof?  
> I mean, it would have been so easy for the showmakers to write her out with a sentence. Marry her off to some mountain man in Montana. Kill her for all I care. But, nope. The question lingered open, so my mind had to answer it. 
> 
> This is the gaping story hole that drew me into fanfiction in the first place and the first thing I ever wrote.
> 
> Undying thanks to betas lecroixss and clearinghouse for their tireless effort to make it the best it can be. And thank you for letting me know what you think.

**PROLOGUE -THEN**  
_Amir Park was only four, but he knew that the Thing Under the Bed and the Bogeyman weren't real.  
_

 _The Mirrorman, he had seen with his own huge, dark eyes._  
  
_The little boy climbed onto the stepping stool and let himself peek up at his own black hair and huge brown eyes. The Mirrorman scowled back from behind the icy glass. Heart racing in his tiny chest, Amir’s head whipped around to be sure he was still alone in the bathroom._  
  
_A saggy flap of skin sunk in over the hole where the Mirrorman’s left eye should have been. The other jaundiced eyeball bulged from a dark socket. An angry, red gash marred the left side of his face. He rasped the same words as always. “You end it before it begins. Say it.”_  
  
_The boy repeated the words until a violent knock rattled the door and he stumbled from his stool. “Amir!”_  
  
_His mother opened the door and_ _he scrambled out of the bathroom, leaving the cold water running._  
 

**PART 1 - NOW**

The end of a case wasn't supposed to ache. When lives were saved, it was cause for a little internal celebration, maybe a beer. But, this hadn’t been a usual case and Dean was in pain.

He watched through his $3 truck stop shades as the landscape passed by in a dark blur of corn and farmhouses, sheep and antique shops. His fingers drummed the passenger’s side door handle without keeping rhythm with the crap music Sam had chosen while he was asleep.

Sam, whose hands were at ten and two, but whose eyes kept wandering over at Dean’s face. There was nothing to see. 

“Hey. You okay over there?”

“Awesome,” Dean grumbled, pissed at himself for how shitty he felt and pissed at Sam for noticing.

“Yeah, you look like an awesome train wreck.”

Dean stopped fidgeting and sighed louder than he had intended. He would tuck and roll out of the fucking car if his brother brought up this thing with Cassie again.

“So, you would honestly rather sit there stewing in your own juices than admit you didn't want to leave her?”

“Do me a favor, Dr. Phil, and mind your own goddamn business.” Dean went back to staring out of his window.

“You know, we have nowhere to be right now. Caleb took care of PA. Dad doesn’t want us anywhere near whatever the hell he’s doing. We could set up shop for a little while - at least until we get some new coordinates or whatever.” 

Dean scratched his nose under his sunglasses and grit out between clenched teeth. “Why? Why do you give a shit?”

“Seriously?" Sam gawked at him. "Because, you’re my brother, Dean. And I want you to be happy. Also, because I need you sharp, so you can watch out for my ass.”

Dean chuckled a little. He’d recently said something similar about Sam’s atrocious sleep habits. At least the kid was actually listening to him.

 Sam smiled and added, “And that’s not going to happen if you're pining over some girl.”

The grin melted from Dean’s face. “She’s not ‘some girl.’”

“Yeah.” Sam said. “I know.”

 

 

**BACK THEN**

_Dean_ __keys jangled as he twirled them around his finger in time to the tune he was whistling: the Andy Griffith theme song._ The three inch layer of snow on the ground didn't bother him one bit. Neither did the frigid wind whipping his face. He _ _might as well have been the king of the campus._

_As usual, Cassie was taking her sweet time, wrestling with all of that hair. Dean went down ahead of her to warm up the car. She could take as long as she wanted to get ready; the results were always worth it._

_The sound of his boots crunching over the snow stopped as an instinctive chill that had nothing to do with the weather coursed through his body. His dad was sitting on the hood of the Impala smoking a cigarette. “So, this is the ‘den’ you’re staking out?" John asked. "Doesn’t look too dangerous to me.”_

_Dean lowered his head, cursing himself for acting like a cowed teenager._

_His father flicked the unfinished butt to the ground. “So, now you’re lying to me, boy? For some girl.”_

_“No, sir.” Dean willed himself to raise his eyes from the orange embers and the fading wisp of smoke on the asphalt to meet his father’s steely glare._

_It was as close to a direct challenge as he could muster. He hadn’t lied, exactly. He had staked out the vampire den for a while and then, he'd gone to be with Cassie. And she was a lot more than “some girl,” although he wasn’t ready to admit it to himself, let alone to his father._

_Someday, he'd ask his dad about when he met_ _his mom. Not then, though. The old man’s tone and stance told Dean that they were not father and son at the moment, but Captain and soldier._

_He sensed rather than heard as Cassie bounced up beside him. She slipped her arm around his waist, tucked her thumb in his belt loop and smiled at John. Dean cleared his throat as a fragrant swirl of vanilla, honey and coconut blew into his lung with the wind. “Cassie Robinson, this is my dad, John Winchester.”_

_The silver bangle Dean had given her hung from her thin wrist as she held out a gloved hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”_

_His dad scraped his fingers through his hair before tucking his cap under his arm. He shook her hand and looked her over, but didn’t utter a word._ _With one palm on the small of Cassie's back, Dean gave her the keys and kissed her cheek. “Can you warm her up for me? I’ll be right there.”_

_John cast another glimpse over his shoulder as Dean followed him to the truck. “You’ve checked her out? Thoroughly?”_

_“Of course.”_ __He wasn't stupid._ It had not been easy to do it without Cassie figuring it out, but Dean had subjected her to the full battery of tests. She was impervious to silver, holy water, iron, salt … the works._

_“And you’re sure she’s not a succubus?”_

_“She’s not a fucking succubus, Dad. Sorry, Sir. She’s good with silver, so...” Dean stepped to the side to obstruct his father's view of Cassie in the Impala._

_“This is not like you, son." He peered over Dean's shoulder again. “A lot of ugly things can make themselves pretty. You ought to know that.”_

_“I’m sure.”_

_John pulled out his pack of Marlboros and slapped it against his palm a few times. “So…”_

_“If it’s cool, I’ll … This’ll be my headquarters. While we’re here. You’ll let me know if, when…” Dean held his breath, willing his father to agree to what he was asking.  
_

_Something about pointing out that he was an adult would have made him less of one._

_John shook his head. The cigarette bobbed between his pursed lips as he spoke.“This is a bad idea.”_

_“It’s temporary. Like a fix, you know.”_

_“Yeah, I know. You’re playing house and it’s a bad idea. Scoot.” John Winchester struck his match and sighed as Dean damn near skipped back to the Impala._

 

~

 

“To hell with it.” Sam turned the steering wheel hard, spinning the car on a dime.

The tires screeched against the road, kicking up a cloud of dust and gravel. Rubber burned off onto the blacktop and created an acidic haze to taint the air.

“Turn the car around, Sam.” Dean’s voice remained level, although his pulse raced.

“No.”

“I swear to God, man.” Dean grabbed the wheel and yanked back to the right.

Sam gripped tight and tried to steady the car. “Knock it off!” His elbow connected with Dean’s face. “Shit! I’m sorry.”

The cracked shades crumbled to Dean's lap in two pieces. He pinched the bridge of his possibly broken, profusely bleeding nose.

“You all right?” Sam straightened the car and grimaced at the crimson mess coating Dean’s chin and slipping through his fingers.

Dean tilted his head back and caught the flow with his hands in a futile attempt to keep his upholstery clean. It was a lost cause. He lashed out and slammed his little brother’s skull against the driver’s window with a loud thud. A bloody hand print stained Sam's ear and made Dean feel a little better until the car jerked and veered off course again. A sixteen wheeler in the oncoming lane honked frantically. It weaved just in time to avoid pulverizing them.

Dean wiped at his face with the back of his wrist and snarled behind bloody teeth. “I'm only going to say this one more time: Turn. The fucking. Car. Around.”

“Or what?”

Dean opened his door. A gust of cold wind filled the car as he hung his right foot out over the road to time his jump.

“Seriously?” 

Sam could dare him if he wanted. 

“All right, all right. God.”

Dean peeled off his bloody flannel and bunched it up against his face.

Sam tried to pull it away. "Let me see."

Dean swatted his hand and swung his feet out onto the grass. He hung his head and let the blood flow freely, now that it wouldn't muck up his seats.

“I’m sorry about that, Dean. Look, all I'm saying is, if I could be with Jessica right now, or have the chance of going home to her when all this is over…” Sam huffed and hung his head. 

“She doesn't fucking want me." Dean’s voice quivered. "She's made that clear. Not once. Twice.” 

He had never been so grateful to be in physical pain. It at least dampened the other kind.

Dean breathed through his mouth, refusing to let this moment of weakness descend any further. 

Sam looked straight ahead through the windshield. “I don't think that's true. I think you're both too stubborn to see what's in front of you. Go back now and tell her you won't take No for an answer. And if she still sends you away, then you know. And you can let it go once and for all … People need that kind of closure, Dean. Even freaks like you.”

 

 

**~**

 

“You’re a meddlesome bitch, you know that?” Dean slammed the car door behind him.

“You're welcome, jerk,” Sam mumbled as his brother sauntered up to the house.

Unlike Dean, he had no experience with picking up complete strangers. He didn't even want to know about it. What he _did_ know was how to be in a relationship. If you were serious about the girl you had to show her, even if it meant fighting for it.

 

Dean stopped at the door, but didn’t ring or knock. All the bone crunching, blood sucking, otherworldly motherfuckers who had tried to tear him limb from limb in his lifetime were all less terrifying than facing this woman again. At least monsters were predictable. But Sam was right. A third strike would tell him, once and for all, that he was out. Then, he could just banish her from his mind after that.

Right. Because that had worked so well the last time.

“Just fucking do it,” Dean growled at himself, but his hands remained glued to his sides.

He shook his head, turned on his heels, marched down the steps and back toward the car. The locks clicked shut from the inside as Sam jammed the heel of his hand over the button. Dean swore under his breath. “I am going to choke the life out of that little shit.”

He sighed and dragged his ass back to the porch. A thin wheeze of air entered his lungs every time he inhaled through his blood-encrusted nose, scraping a palm down his face and scrubbing at his stubble. Dean straightened his fresh shirt.

The door was oak, with an opaque glass oval in the center. Dean stumbled backwards when it opened. Cassie gawked up at him. She was tugging a brown leather rolling suitcase in one hand and had a briefcase slung over the other shoulder. “Did you forget something?”

She couldn't help sounding so matter of fact all the time. It was the reporter thing. ‘Dispassionate’ was the word she favored. Dean swallowed, but it did nothing to soothe the fucking desert in this throat. “Um. No. That’s the problem, Cassie. I can’t.”

She grimaced. “You know that’s bad, right?”

Dean's smile unfurled. “You love it.”

She chuckled and nodded. “I do.”

Dean released breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and pulled Cassie to him. Her hand dropped the handle of her bag and hung in the air for a moment before fisting in his shirt. With a grin like a kid, he tugged the end of one of her curls and asked, “Now what?”


	2. Chapter 2

On the day he’d died, Dean had put St Louis at the top of the list of towns he would never step foot in again. Against all odds, he was back. He maneuvered his car into a visitor’s parking spot in the shadow of a swank brownstone mid-rise. He turned his nose up at the building, hands shoved into his pockets, watching Cassie hoist bags out of her silver Miata. Sam cleared his throat.

“What do you want now?” Dean rolled his eyes, fed up with his little brother’s meddling ways, even if they had been effective.

Sam jerked his head toward Cassie as she closed the luggage compartment. Dean sucked his teeth and shuffled over to her side. Her grip didn’t even loosen when he reached to wrest the handle of the suitcase from her hand. “Let me help you with that.”

“It’s okay. I got it.” Without thinking about it, she poked out her elbow to keep him from taking the bag.

“No, let me…”

“Dean. I have it.”

He threw his hands in the air and stepped back to make space for her to pass. Silently, he pumped a fist at his brother. Sam grinned, shrugged and followed them inside.

~

As they stepped into Cassie’s apartment, Dean sniffed at the earthy sweet aroma. “What is that, laundry soap?”

Sam brushed his hands over the thin, dried, purple-tipped stalks that jutted up from a vase by the door. He held his fingertips in front of his brother’s nose. Dean shoved him away, clearly expecting to smell something gross. Sam chuckled and shook his head. "It's lavender, dude."

It certainly didn't smell like a motel room. Those usually came in scents like musk, sweat, sex, vomit and, on a good day, artificial pine disinfectant.

Cassie hung her keys on the hook by the door and her jacket on the wooden tree rack. She briefly pointed out the kitchen to the left, suggesting they help themselves to anything. In the center of the living room were a black leather couch and a glass coffee table: housewarming gifts from her parents. A hall off to the right led to the bedrooms. She shrugged. “It’s not much.”

“Very classy, Cassie.” Dean spun around, taking in the place and amused at his own rhyme.

Cassie rolled her eyes light-heartedly and grinned at Sam, who held back an apologetic snicker.

“Is that a Basquiat?” He gestured toward a painting on the wall.

Cassie’s eyebrows lifted, clearly impressed. “Not an original. Obviously.”

Dean eyeballed his nerdy little brother and shook his head at the embarrassing amount of useless information in that overgrown skull.

Sam shrugged, “What? I took modern art.”

Cassie passed between the entertainment center and couch to point out a blue door. She glared at Dean. “This is the little girl’s room. Respect that.”

He threw his arms up in surrender. “What?”

“Toilet seat,” Sam filled him in. “He hasn’t lived with a woman since he was four,” he explained to Cassie.

“Whatever.” Dean gave him the finger and wandered over to pore through Cassie’s massive and alphabetically ordered CD collection. A pained frown split his face as he pulled down a Kenny G record. “No, no, no. You have to be kidding me. Your taste has actually gotten worse.”

Groaning, he chucked that hull and a few others over his shoulder. Cassie planted her hands firmly on her slender hips. “Are you crazy!? Pick those up!”

Sam tried, unsuccessfully, to contain his laughter. Cassie shook her head as she traipsed down the short hallway and opened a door. “And this, Sam, is actually my office. But as you can see there's a futon in there that I hope is big enough.” She looked over his towering frame with a shred of doubt.

He entered the room and dropped his duffel on top of the Ohio State Bobcats blanket. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Dean draped an arm over Cassie’s shoulder. “If not, Sasquatch sleeps on the floor.”

“I'm actually thinking I should just get a motel room. Let you two have some privacy.” Sam searched Dean’s eyes for a response.

It was Cassie who scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. After everything you’ve done, you both are welcome to stay here until …”

Dean heard the question implied by her sudden silence, but had no answer. Cassie tore herself away and headed for the kitchen. “How about some tea?”

As the water collected in the electric kettle, the front door lock clicked open. Out of habit, both Winchesters reached for the weapons holstered in the back of their jeans. Cassie glanced over her shoulder. Her face instantly lit up as a strikingly handsome young man with olive skin and jet black hair entered the apartment. His dark eyes immediately narrowed when he saw Dean.

“Hey!” Cassie rushed over and stood on her tiptoes to kiss the visitor’s cheek. “Bryce. You remember Dean Winchester. And this is his brother, Sam. You guys, this is…”

“Bryce.” Dean spit out the name, slinging the guy's palpable animosity right back at him.

Dean Winchester was the last person to get jealous or to be intimidated by some overly clean, gel wearing asshole in bright green pants and half a gallon of cologne. Still, the corner of Dean’s lip curled into a sneer at the perfect part on the left side of this loser’s scalp. He ignored the way Cassie’s hand lingered on the well-muscled arm and gestured to the tidy rows of lime-colored frogs hopping along Bryce’s white polo. “Nice shirt.”

This jackass looked like he had fallen out of a Brooks Brothers catalogue.

Equally unimpressed, Bryce regarded Dean with an expression generally reserved for dog shit on the sole of his shoes. His eyes flitted over the amulet at Dean’s throat and he growled something under his breath.

Dean narrowed his eyes, too, feeling a lot like Eastwood at high noon. “Do I know you?”

Cassie looked between them, sincerely hoping the stupid testosterone showdown was coming to an end. “Bryce was there the day you and I met. Remember?”

Dean remembered the day very well, but not this particular pain in the ass.

Bryce nodded bitterly, still scowling sharply at Dean, “Yeah. That was the day I told you that this guy was a degenerate and a waste of your time.”

Dean took an almost imperceptible step, curling his fingers.

“Bryce. Please.” Cassie struck his chest and urged him to back off. 

He never stopped sneering at Dean, though. “He’s nothing but trouble, Cass, and you know it.”

Dean cracked his neck, ready to show this jackoff just what kind of trouble he was.

“Dean.” Sam spoke up, quietly. He had been holding his ground by the sofa, watching the scene unfold. A fight wouldn’t be fair and the last thing they needed was for this guy to call the cops in a city where Dean had, supposedly, gone through the mortuary.

Dean glanced over at Sam and back to Bryce before giving, what appeared to be, an effortless smirk. “Good to see you again, Bryce.”

Cassie stroked Bryce’s arm, as if she was calming an uneasy tiger. “I’m making tea. You want some?”

Reluctantly, Bryce trailed her into the kitchen and leaned back against the counter. She added a fourth mug to the line of cups on the counter.

“What is he doing here?” 

Dean and Sam were in the living room, completely within earshot. Cassie lowered her voice. “They needed a place for a little while. I didn't want to be in my mother’s hair anymore. She’s dealing with enough right now.”

“How long?” he hissed.

“As long as they want, Bryce.” She practically hurled spoons into the mugs before shoving one towards him.

He leaned close to whisper. “This doesn’t end well, Cass.”

“Hey! You know what...” Finally fed up, Dean stormed into the kitchen.

Before he could reach Cassie’s side, Bryce stepped between them. “It didn't end well before. It won’t now.”

“That’s enough, pal.” Dean practically pressed his chest into Bryce’s. If this guy wanted to tango he was fine with that.

Bryce slowly wiped a drop of Dean’s spit from his face and rubbed the fluid between his fingertips. “I’m not your pal, Winchester.”

Sam’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t move. It would be so much more practical if Dean didn't give Cassie’s friend a beatdown, but even Sam could admit that the guy was begging for it.

“Cool it, Stretch.” Bryce barked in Sam’s general direction. Then, he turned to Cassie. “I promise you, there is no happy ending with this guy.”

He left the apartment without another word.

With his heart still pounding in his ears, Dean closed an arm around Cassie’s waist and practically pulled her close. She rested her forehead on his shoulder. He kissed her hair. A hundred questions burned on his tongue, but he left them unspoken. What was he going to say if he found out the guy was Cassie’s favorite fuck buddy? If that were the case, Dean wouldn’t love it, but he’d figure out how to deal. What he hated was all the evidence suggesting that the guy was actually somebody important to her.

Rather than let on how agitated he was, Dean grinned. “Nice neighbors.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Sam told himself it wasn’t envy. He would not succumb to such a base, vain emotion as that. Whatever he was feeling was green and bitter and ugly like some kind of slime that coated his tongue and wormed its way down into his gut. It made him want to throw up or run or both.

The door to the guest room shut quietly behind him. The muffled laughter grew louder as he approached the living room. There were glasses and a mostly empty bottle of wine on the coffee table. As far as Sam knew, Dean had never drunk wine in his life. Beer, sure. Jack, hell yeah. But a Shiraz so fragrant Sam could almost taste it halfway across the room? So not his brother.

Dean and Cassie lay on the sofa, wrestling and giggling. He had pinned her hands at her sides and was mercilessly nuzzling her neck with his face. A low growl sounded in his throat and she squealed. Diverting his eyes from them, Sam cleared his throat and announced, “Um, I'm going to go check out the neighborhood. Maybe meet up with Zach and Becky.”

He didn’t actually think they'd heard, until Dean emphatically waved him off with one hand. Sam nodded and ducked out of the front door, closing it softly behind him. No matter what else he felt, he was glad that at least one of them was happy.

Hearing the door shut, Cassie whispered, “He’s sweet.”

“He's a pain in my ass.” Dean brushed his lips across that spot on her neck again, loving the way she shuddered.

The vanilla oil was fading from her skin, but when he took a deep breath, it blended with her sweat and sent a warm thrill right to his bones.

“You never told me your baby brother is a giant.” She laughed and tried to break free again.

Suddenly serious, Dean gazed into her dark eyes for a moment. “Hold on a second. I want to show you something.”

He made a little show of straightening his stiff dick in his pants and hobbled back to the bedroom to dig the photos out of his stuff. When he returned, Cassie sat up on the sofa to get a better look. She took the pictures from his hands. “Wow, Dean, your mom was gorgeous. Wait, you said everything was lost in the fire.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He smoothed a dog-eared corner.

“Where’d you get these?”

“The old house.”

Cassie’s jaw dropped, “Whatever happened to ‘never going back to Lawrence’? It was like your mantra.”

“Things change.” Dean shrugged and studied the image like he was seeing it for the first time. Like he didn’t take these out and look at them at least once a day. “I saw my mom while I was there.”

She squinted and earnestly tried to wrap her mind around what Dean was saying.

He looked directly at her and repeated, “I saw my mom.”

Considering that a racist ghost truck had just killed her father, his best friend and even the mayor of the town where she grew up, Cassie decided she didn’t require further explanation. She huffed out a breath. “Wow.”

“You know, I had pretty much forgotten what she looked like?”

She nodded. “I remember you saying so. Did she tell you she was proud of you? She must be. What you do … you help a lot of people.”

Dean lowered his eyes. He was going to kick his own ass if he cried. “No. She, uh, apologized to Sam.”

“Apologized?”

“I guess that she wasn't around for him.” He gave the best answer he could think of. The same question had been plaguing him.

Cassie shook her head, dissatisfied with his explanation. “But that wasn’t her fault. It’s not like she chose to die in that fire.”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe he just needed to hear it. I don’t know. It was over really fast.”

Cassie caressed his thigh. “You must feel better. It always seemed like you needed closure on her death.”

“‘Closure.’” Dean huffed. “Must be the word of the day.”

She smiled, not sure what he was talking about and gazed absently at her plants for a moment. “Do you think I’ll see my dad?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible.” Dean chose not to say how much he hoped she didn’t see her father.

In his experience, ghosts were never a good thing. He had purposely neglected to talk about the poltergeist that had taken over his childhood home, figuring Cassie had dealt with enough nightmares already.

She examined the photo in her hand again. “You were kind of funny looking, weren't you?”

“Why do people keep saying that? All kids are funny looking.”

She laughed. “Look at your dad. He looks so happy.”

Dean leaned in. He had been so busy memorizing his mother’s face that he hadn’t really noticed that before. “Yeah, he does, doesn’t he?”

“How’s he doing, anyway? He’s got to be glad Sam’s back.” Holding the photo by the edges, like the treasure it was, she returned it to his hands.

“He’s, uh … hard to say. He’s kind of off doing his own thing right now.”

“Hunting? A ghost?” Cassie could hardly believe she was talking about this stuff like it was perfectly normal. But knowing it was true, after all these years, she felt a need to make up for not believing him in the first place.

“Something else.” Again, Dean opted not to go into detail.

“You weren't very specific about what that meant … back then.” She pretended to pick lint from a pillow on the sofa.

Dean figured ‘back then’ was always going to be a sore topic between them. He picked up and emptied his glass in one swig. This stuff they were drinking was never going to be his favorite, but at least he was a little buzzed. “You didn't want me to be more specific back then. Do you want me to now?”

Cassie peered up at him and rolled her lips together.

“Well, more specifically, we took down a shapeshifter a couple miles from here just a few months ago. Nasty fucker. If I’d have known you were here, I’d have invited you to my funeral.”

Cassie nodded slowly, realizing how deeply she was in over her head. “Am I going to have to get used to you saying things like that all the time?”

He smiled, “Yeah.”

She lowered her head and snickered. It was doubtful that she would ever get used to having Dean around. Everything with him was always uncharted territory. But his hand was warm on her neck and for the moment, at least, she wasn't going to question it. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. “I didn't expect you to come back. Figured you had more hearts to break across the continental US.”

“Nah. Just the midwest.”

Cassie laughed and hit him in the chest with a pillow.

“Actually, I haven’t…"

Instantly, her smile faded. There was no way she would believe it if Dean tried to tell her he hadn’t been with anyone in all the time they’d been apart.

Sensing how heavy the air had suddenly become, he chuckled, “Oh, come on. You know me better than that.”

Cassie seemed relieved to hear him say he was getting around. To his own horror, he heard himself keep blathering. “Just haven’t… there hasn’t been … Jesus, you know what? Forget it.”

His throat was so tight, he wished he had another drink. This was the problem with Cassie: she always made him feel exposed. Talking about feelings was fucking horrifying - worse than taking on a wendigo unarmed.

He shook his head and left the couch. Needing something to do with his clammy hands, Dean searched through her music again.

Cassie watched him from the couch, giving him space, but not ready to drop it. “Dean. What were you going to say?”

Without turning around, he finished his damn thought, “Haven’t had anything like what we had.”

She walked over and stood beside him. She took the CD from his hand and rested her palm on the coarse stubble on his cheek. He’d probably shave tomorrow. She wanted to be there to watch. Maybe help.

“But hey, I never had to buy any birthday presents.” Dean forced a chuckle at his own flat joke.

Cassie frowned. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don't do that. Don't pull away from me.” You know I love you. She thought it, but couldn't bring herself to speak the words. The last time she had said those words to this man, she’d been made to regret them immediately. Instead, she looked down and toyed with the leather cord around his wrist. “I’m glad you’re here.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. For a moment, he just watched his college girl. She had always loved to read before bed: thick ass books, non-fiction. He’d never heard the names Noam Chomsky or Henry Louis Gates before or since going to bed with Cassie. He still wasn’t sure who those dudes were, but he figured they were eggheads like his brother, probably.

Thinking of Sam, he fired off a text: ‘Stay gone. 3-5 hrs.’ The phone played its mechanical melody as he turned it off. The thing landed on the carpet with a dull thud. His belt buckle clanked as he slowly tugged it open for the benefit of his audience.

Cassie’s mouth twitched, playing down a smile. She kept her eyes glued to the page, reading over the same line again and again even as her body tingled with awareness of him undressing.

Dean waited at the edge of the bed until she couldn't resist anymore. Her eyes flicked up at him. First, she took in his devilishly grinning face. Then, her eyes fell to his belt, dangling open. He beckoned to her with a crook of his finger, “Come here.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know I don’t like it when you try to control me.”

“Sometimes you do.”

Her expression remained schooled, an unfazed mask belying the furious heat licking at her chest. She let out a breath through slightly parted lips. Then, she put her book on the night stand, crawled across the mattress and knelt on the bed in front of him, so they were eye to eye.

Her hands slid slowly down his shoulders, playing with one of the fraying sleeves of his ancient grey t-shirt. Dean must have had this thing since he was a teenager. Her eyes fluttered shut as she rubbed her face against his collar. For a moment, she lost herself in the musk of his skin, breathing in the faint notes of motor oil and gun grease and grilled meat and motel soap. A thousand washes couldn’t entirely remove those smells from his clothes. Five years of dating men with expensive colognes hadn't erased them entirely from her memory.

Dean pulled the shirt over his head. “You want it?”

“Shut up.” She snatched the thing and pelted it at him.

Dean tossed the shirt across the room and watched her small hands flit down his chest. Nimble fingers hooked under the elastic of his boxers while the other hand pinched his nipple, hard.

“You little…” Suddenly inflamed, Dean grabbed her wrist and rubbed her palm against the bulge in his pants.

Cassie yanked her hand away. “Jesus, Winchester. Where’s the fire?”

“Right here.” This time, he gripped himself and gave his hips a little thrust forward.

She shook her head in mock annoyance. This guy had never been one for subtlety, modesty or patience.

So many of Dean’s experiences had been rushed encounters with nameless waitresses in filthy ass bathroom stalls. He could count on 3 fingers the girls he had been with more than once. He put all that out of his mind and reminded himself to let Cassie take her sweet time loosening his button and unzipping his fly, no matter how much it drove him crazy.

She blinked up at him. He took a brief kiss as a reward for his restraint. His hands rested on her slender hips, fingers splayed across the crests of her firm little ass. Giving it a light slap, he murmured, “You like that?”

When she nodded, Dean rewarded her with a long, languid taste of what was left of the wine on his tongue. He licked lightly along her lips and smiled against her quiet hum. He hadn’t forgotten that she preferred a more chaste kiss. Rather than plundering her mouth the way he would with a lot of girls, he took it easy and relished the press and pull of her lips. The control it took sent a wild surge of heat through him straight to his already anxiously twitching cock.

Patience spent, he lifted and laid her down with her head on the cream colored satin pillow. He pinned her hands together over her head with one hand. She struggled for a moment, but relented as the fingers of his other hand passed tenderly through her thick curls. All at once, they fisted tightly, tilting her head back so that he could brush his face against the side of her neck. For just a moment, he paused to feel her pulse race against his cheek. He licked the same path and pursed his lips to blow cold air across her skin.

A chill surged down Cassie’s spine, along with the warmth and an unexpected twinge of jealousy. He had clearly had plenty of practice since they were together. Their first time, Dean had reached for her panties almost as soon as they’d started kissing. To his credit, he had noticed that she was unimpressed with his haste. Breathless and rock hard, he had stopped himself, searched her eyes and coaxed, “Show me. Show me what you like.”

There had been a girl or two, both before Cassie and since, that he'd imagined sticking around for. But she was the only one he’d ever actually tried it with. In that way, just like right now, there was only this one woman in the world.

“You’re so beautiful.” He brushed his fingertips down one of her arms and then the other, enjoying the way she shivered at barely being touched.

His palm pressed firmly into the center of her chest as he leaned down and softly kissed her again. The thumb of one hand kneaded her collarbone while the other lifted the hem of her  
silky blue nightgown. Smiling and never taking his eyes from hers, he rolled down her panties. Then, he wrapped his arms around the backs of both of her legs and backed down the bed, lowering himself while stroking her thighs.

Suddenly uneasy, Cassie leaned up on her elbows, squirming to get away. “Wait. Dean. I should probably take a shower.”

“Mm-mm. After.” He didn't want to taste soap. He wanted to taste Cassie.

“Dean.” she whined, but gave up trying to stop him.

He smiled and nipped beside her navel. Below her navel. Inside her thigh. Dean had only been to the ocean once in his life, but this was the way he remembered the scent of it. Not chemicals and fake flowers like some girls after they’ve just douched. Cassie smelled real and alive and a little bit nasty.

Dean hoisted her hips up towards his shoulders and took the dive. It was like plunging face first into warm salt water. Then, he began to lick, like she was a pussy-flavored ice cream cone that was going to melt. The obscene slurp and slush sounds become his whole world as he lapped up, around and between all of her soft flesh. He had mapped out her most intimate anatomy with his eager tongue, grinning to himself. As tamely as Cassie liked to kiss, she didn’t mind him Frenching her snatch.

God, the way she mewled and cried and arched and contorted and gouged her fingernails into the backs of his hand, and clawed at his scalp: it was almost as good as being inside of her.

Dean slipped a finger in alongside his tongue. The thought of penetrating her made his cock weep with anticipation. But he could wait. The first time they’d come back together, back at her mother’s house, had been way too quick. Then, Sam had called before he could redeem himself. This time was going to be different. He was going to be sure she got exactly what she needed.

At the same time as Dean gently nibbled her clit, he hooked his thumb and gently prodded at her tightly puckered asshole. Cassie bucked and shrieked.

He lifted his head, “You okay?”

Unsure, she blinked up at him with startled eyes. This was definitely new. She put her hands on his shoulders, breathing hard, legs beginning to tremble.

He loved that he had shocked her and reveled in the way her thighs quivered against his face. “You want something else?” He didn’t think so, but wanted to be sure.

She shook her head, speechless.

Dean dove in again, this time, focusing all of his attention on Cassie’s nub:  sucking, licking, nibbling, he took his pleasure from her gasps that quickly turned into shouts and spastic tremors. He had forgotten that she could be so fucking loud. He was dying to come into her, but not yet.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, Dean. Oh god, Oh god.” Whimpering, Cassie twisted her fists in the sheets. Her toes curled. Every muscle in her lithe body tensed as her mouth fell open to draw in a loud breath.

He twined his fingers with hers, buzzing along to the same rhythm as her cries. His tongue flicked as fast as he could make it go until her chanting became a low whine. Then, he gently licked her until she was purring, stroking his hair, thrumming her satisfaction.

Dean wiped the moisture from his face onto the sheet and grinned up Cassie’s body into her half open eyes. “Sorry. You wanted to read.”

“Shut up.” Flushed and fatigued, she squeezed his cheeks between her thighs.

Cassie’s breath still caught in her throat. She smiled sleepily as Dean clumsily kicked off his slightly stained shorts and hovered over her. He held his breath and his cock steady as he slid easily into her. She inhaled sharply, fingers digging into his back. 

Pure fire raced through Dean’s veins as he was suddenly afflicted by a familiar terror. It was a dread that was usually just a dull ache in the back of his mind. It was an echo of his mother’s death, Sam’s desertion and now, his father’s abandonment. It all reverberated in his pounding skull along with the foul memory of how this very woman had discarded him. Over and again, Cassie had chucked him out like he was trash.

Bile filled his mouth, acid and sour, until he was sure he would be sick. All over Cassie.

He was suddenly so fucking exhausted from constantly being deserted. He would rather just die.  
He would rather just kill her.

Seeing that Dean seemed to have frozen, Cassie smoothed her hand over his damp brow and gazed into his anguished, bottle green eyes. She whispered, “Fuck me.”

He shook off the sickness, burrowed his arms beneath her. His hips snapped fiercely driving into her. She gasped and he waited to see if there would be a complaint. When none was forthcoming, he clasped onto her shoulders and drove himself home. He slid into her wet warmth, pace and intensity mounting with each sharp thrust. Before long, the sound of sticky skin slapping together filled his ears. That deliciously vulgar sound and the shadow of those dark thoughts hounded him until he was thrashing into her.

Cassie cried out, but never asked him to stop. His entire body strained, almost painfully before he shuddered his release with a long, low groan. Even after he had filled her, he shook violently for a few moments, gasping roughly, like a drowning man.

Her hands rubbed soothingly up and down his clammy back. Goosebumps popped out all across Dean’s flesh. His body trembled again and a sound escaped his mouth that wasn't quite masculine enough to him. He cleared his throat and leaned up on his elbows to search her face. Satisfied that she was satisfied, he smiled. Then, he dropped his body down on top of her.

They lay for a while, basking in the ebb and flow of their own breaths. “Am I too heavy?”

Cassie shook her head: No.

Dean thought of asking if it was all right that he was still inside her, but he couldn’t bear risking the wrong answer. “I love you.” The words fell out of his mouth so fast, it stunned even him. He held his breath, hoping that somehow, she hadn't heard.

A ravished smile spread across her face. Cassie kissed his cheek and let her eyes slip closed.

“I would never hurt you.”

Cassie only whispered, “Go to sleep.”


	5. Chapter 5

**BACK THEN**

_Cassie_ _’_ _s hair had been nearly to her ass, sleek and curly as all hell. Dean_ _’_ _s hair was shorter: damn near a crew cut and lighter. He was just growing out of having been a blond kid. Her room was tiny, but she was an RA, so she had the whole space to herself. That was convenient, considering how much fucking they did._

_They hadn_ _’_ _t spent every single waking moment in her room, but only because he_ _’_ _d had investigating to do. And she had classes. A couple of times, they went out and saw a movie or ate in the cafeteria, on her suggestion. Dean figured it was because she didn_ _’_ _t want him to think she was a slut._

_He never thought that. He did, however, think that he was going crazy. He kept having these vivid images of snuffing her: with a pillow over her face as her tiny hands clawed at him. Or with his bare hands, thumbs crushing her trachea. He saw himself gutting her with a Bowie knife. And blowing her face to bits with a shotgun. He imagined bludgeoning her with a fucking crowbar. He had clearly heard her skull cracking loudly and felt the bits of brains and little shards of bone sticking to his cheeks and eyelids._

_Mostly, these images would come while he was fucking her. As troubling as they were, they added a ferocity and grit to their lovemaking that he wouldn_ _’_ _t have traded for healthier thoughts - like picket fucking fences and walks on the beach - in the moment. Once his lust was slaked, though, he would stumble to bathroom, grip the sink, call his reflection a sick fuck and splash freezing water over himself until the dark fantasies subsided._

_He_ _’_ _d never had those kinds of thoughts with any other girl. Then again, he_ _’_ _d never felt exactly like this about any other girl. Maybe it was just a result of his fucked upbringing. That was what he told himself, because what the hell else could it be? It was just his mind_ _’_ _s way of reminding him that he would never be normal. He also knew he would never act on any of these whacked out visions._

_Until that day._

_The crazy thing was that he couldn_ _’_ _t even remember what they had been arguing about. There had been an unhealthy dose of squabbling between them, as if to balance out the mind numbing sex and the inexplicable intensity of their almost instant connection._

_What Dean could never forget was grabbing Cassie by her shoulders, shaking the shit out of her and smacking her face. It was much less than he had wanted to do, but it was something he had never done and that she had obviously never experienced before. They both stumbled away from each other, wide-eyed and stupefied. He had covered his gaping mouth with the offending hand, unable to even utter the pitiful apology that was a broken record in his head._

_She slumped down on the foot of the bed, running her own knuckles over the place on her cheek that still stung from the force of the blow._

_With all those violent thoughts, Dean had known before that something was wrong. But he had been able to control it. On that day, the suspicion that she must be haunted—or something worse—hit him full force. It had to be her. He had never experienced anything like this before: such a powerful desire to hurt, to kill someone who was innocent. Someone he_ _…_ _He had been too immature to use the word love, even inside own head, but he couldn'_ _t deny that he cared for Cassie._

_Dean had thought of leaving the dorm, but he was afraid she would lock him out and never see him again. So they both stayed in the room, silently ignoring the others'_ _presence. For a few hours, she read. He sat in a corner on the floor like a grounded toddler, waiting for her to be ready to talk to him._

_And he thought. His mind raced over all the possibilities. The more he thought about it, the more sure he became that Cassie was haunted. That was no big deal, as far as Dean was concerned. He had dealt with this kind of thing before. The problem was that if he was going to get rid of whatever was hanuting her, he was going to have to question her: find out who, why, how._

_The thing was, it wasn_ _’_ _t just a case. It was Cassie. This was his college girl and he didn_ _’_ _t think he was going to be able to get to the bottom of it and lie to her. He wasn_ _’_ _t even sure he wanted to anymore. Some lonely part of him wanted to finally come clean about the_ _‘_ _family business'_ _, even though he had been warned against it his entire life. He had never told anyone. His dad knew who he really was. And Sam. That was it._

_Dean had decided to start with something like an apology, although everything he could think of seemed inadequate. Finally, he took a deep breath and murmured to the floor,_ _“_ _So, you hate me?_ _”_

_At first, Cassie just pretended he wasn't there, like she hadn_ _’_ _t heard anything. It drove him nuts: made him want to break a window with her face and chuck her out of it. Being upset with her only made it worse. He kept his back pressed to the wall, palms pressed to the floor, elbows locked. He resolved to end himself if he ever hurt her again._

_Eventually, she looked up from her textbook. After a moment, she shook her head, straightened her back and tilted her chin up,_ _“_ _It just better fucking well not ever happen again._ _”_

_“_ _I swear, it won_ _’_ _t._ _”_ _In a heartbeat, he crossed the space between them. He knelt and wrapped his arms around her waist. Looking up with glassy, penitent eyes, he muttered,_ _“_ _I'_ _m so sorry._ _”_

_She kissed his forehead._

_When they fucked, it was better than it had ever been. It lasted longer, was even more intense. It had been like he was touching someplace deeper inside of her. Dean had intended to make it all romantic and gentle. To his credit, it had started out that way. Somehow, he had wound up behind her with his palm around her throat. They were like a pair of half-crazed dogs in heat. He licked up the sweat pooling in the center of her back and bit her ear._ _“_ _You want me to fuck you?_ _”_

_A voice in his head echoed —_ _‘_ _You want me to fucking kill you?_ _’_

_Cassie whimpered and the urge to finish her surged through him like a serpent, cold and scaly beneath his skin. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. The feeling morphed into an all encompassing acid burn. Then, it became a need to fuck her into the mattress. To slit her throat while he came. To smear himself with her blood. It would be over in a matter of seconds and then she could never leave him. Then, he would stick a pistol into his own mouth and be done with this fucked up world._

_The thoughts tortured Dean and ratcheted up his lust until he could hardly contain himself. He thought,_ _‘_ _Oh god, please let her be close._ _’_

_Cassie_ _’_ _s body tensed and a primal scream tore her throat as she collapsed forward. Her legs squeezed together on his hand, cramping the fingers that were still massaging her clit. Her mouth opened like the fucking pearly gates and poured out Dean_ _’_ _s favorite sound on earth: his own name being gasped._

_The muscles inside of her clenched and roiled around him sending wave after unbearable wave of heat through him as he clung and fucked and shouted against her shoulder. He bit down. Too hard. Tasted blood. Cursed himself and came harder than he ever had before or since._

_When it was over, he fell against her back, certain that if she moved he would choke the life from her body and that it would feel just as good. It would feel like a fucking orgasm to kill her._

_‘_ _Shut up, Dean. My god. Please stop it.'_ _H_ _e pleaded with himself._

_Finally, when it felt safe, he peppered kisses and feverish apologies into her ear. She clutched his arms tight around her and shuddered, tears slipping down her cheek. “I love you.”_

_He hadn’t said it back: hadn’t said a word. It was a cowardice he would always regret._

_Later, when they were both awake, Dean brushed his lips against her hair and decided it was time. This thing was getting out of control. He needed to end it. He needed her help to know what to look for. His best guess was that she had been hexed by a past lover. Or haunted. That made the most sense, but she had never talked about anyone around her who had died. He would go about it carefully. He wouldn'_ t _alarm her if he didn_ _’_ _t need to. He sniffed loudly, preparing himself._

_“_ _Cassie, what do you think happens after you die?_ _”_

_She chuckled and turned in his arms to face him and see if he was seriously asking that question._ _“_ _Okay, Random._ _…_ _I guess I still believe in God and heaven and all that. What about you?_ _”_

_“_ _I don't know about God... Probably not._ _”_

_Her face fell a little at that, although she had already known that he wasn_ _’_ _t religious—not that she was behaving like the church girl she_ _’_ _d been raised to be. At least not with Dean Winchester around._

_Dean shook his head._ _“_ _Heaven? Probably not either. I don_ _’_ _t honestly know what happens on a good day. I guess you just stay dead. What do you think about ghosts?_ _”_

_“_ _Ghosts? Seriously?_ _”_ _Her expression was bewildered and entertained._

_Fear gripped him in the gut. A red flag waved frantically in his mind, warning him to stop. Turn back while he still could. But he couldn_ _’_ _t. He had to know what was cursing or haunting her. This was the only way._ _“_ _Yeah. Do you believe in ghosts?_ _”_

_She frowned,_ _“_ _Um_ _…_ _No. Not really. Dean, are you okay?_ _”_ _She held her hand to his sticky face to check for fever. They were both a sweaty mess, but he didn_ _’_ _t feel any warmer than he should be._

_Dean was far from okay, but he had started this: he had to finish it. He swiped a few unruly curls off of her damp forehead. She hadn't_ _had bangs back then; just long ringlets that he'd love to twirl around his fingers._ _“_ _What if I were to tell you that ghosts were real? And witches and vampires. Pretty much every creepy fucking thing you can think of._ _”_

_She had stared at him for a long time, the look on her face signaling doubt and and some amusement. Then, when his expression never wavered: confusion. Then, fear._ _“_ _Have you seen a ghost?_ _”_

_“_ _Several._ _”_ _There was, of course, an even greater likelihood that she was cursed, but Dean didn'_ _t have as much experience with hexes. The last thing he wanted to do was enlist his father_ _’_ _s help if he didn'_ _t absolutely have to. He was going to pursue the haunting theory first._

_“_ _Okay._ _”_ _Cassie rolled off of the bed, stood up and used her fingers to peek between the blinds._

_It was well after midnight. Nothing was happening outside. She just needed a moment to process the madness going down in her own room._

_Dean was so gorgeous. He was charming and goofy, incredible in bed. Really, it was getting to be earth shattering. She_ _’_ _d had no idea sex could be like this. After she_ _’_ _d finally agreed to go out with him, he had become irresistible to her. So what, they had nothing in common. He wasn'_ _t exactly a Rhodes scholar, but he was so easy to be around. Even when they argued, it was that classic feeling like an old couple who'd been bickering forever. Who might go on driving each other crazy forever._

_“I_ _, um ...  All right._ _”_ _Dean swiped a sweaty palm over his spiky hair._ _“_ _Time for me to come clean._ _”_ _He wiped his hand down his mouth and chin._ _“_ _That_ _’_ _s what we hunt. Me and my dad. Not_ _…_ _bail skipping scumbags_ _…_ _Dead ones. Evil things that haunt and hurt people._ _”_

_“_ _Ghosts._ _”_ _Cassie nodded, her voice surprisingly even._

_“_ _And other things."_ _He confirmed, relieved to have spit it out and have her, obviously, understand._

_Cassie took a deep breath, swallowed. She bit her lip and looked at the wall behind him, the space around him, the ceiling above him for what felt like an hour. Her lips parted, cheeks puffed a little as she exhaled shakily. She had known it was too good to be true. She just felt blindsided, like an idiot for not having anticipated this elaborate getaway scheme. Cassie was sure she knew what he was doing—with the slap, and now this ridiculous story: he was trying to escape. He was making himself out to be a dangerous nut so that she would run like the wind. Even with the real fear swelling in her chest, she couldn't help trying to stave it off. Wanting him to change his mind._ _“_ _Why are you doing this?_ _”_

_Cassie hated the catch in her own voice: so needy and clingy._

_Dean ignored his own floppy, flaccid penis. He had never let any girl see that before. He climbed out of the bed and walked toward her. When she backed away, he stopped._

_“_ _I told you it was okay._ _” S_ _he pleaded, bucking against her own nature and better judgment._

_It took him a moment to understand what she was talking about._ _“_ _No. Don't say that. It'_ _s not okay."_

_“_ _Not that it's… It's not okay, but_ _…_ _I forgive you. You don't have to act like a fucking lunatic."_ _Her nose stung, throat started to close up. She searched frantically back and forth between his breath-taking jade eyes._

_“_ _Cassie, I_ _…” Dean_ _carefully stepped toward her. His own mind rebelled._ _‘_ _You what, Romeo? You think she's haunted. Say that shit out loud, jerk wad. Spit it out. What do you think she'll say to that?'_ _"You're upset. I'm doing this wrong._ _”_

_She wanted him to stop pulling away from her, but she knew it was over. So, she willed herself to accept it. More than accept it, to take charge of it. With another deep breath, she whispered,_ _“_ _Get out._ _”_

_The words burned her throat on their way out, but it was good pain. It should hurt. It was like ripping out one of her own vital organs. That is what she had let him become and it was right that she should suffer for the mistake._

_“_ _What?_ _”_ _Dean_ _’_ _s head reeled, but he stayed glued to the spot._

_“_ _You heard me. I said leave._ _”_ _It was easier the second time._

_“_ _What? Why?_ _”_

_“_ _You're not going to jerk me around. Get out. It's over._ _”_ _Her back straightened and she kept her breath and tone of voice even._

_“_ _What? Cassie, no. I swear. I'm not bullshitting you._ _”_ _He tried again to approach her._

_She grabbed the first book she could reach from the table and hurled it at him._ _“_ _I said get OUT!"_

_Dean flinched and raised his arms in a half-assed attempt to protect himself. She had good aim. And a strong arm. Fucking softball._

_“_ _Do you want me to call security? GET OUT! Get away from me! I mean it! Leave me alone!_ _”_ _She was shouting now and throwing everything she could find, including her precious term papers. They fluttered to the floor, posing no threat, but making an awful mess._

_A bottle of lotion they had once used as lube connected with his forehead and hurt like shit._ _“_ _Okay. Okay, I'm leaving. Can I put on my fucking clothes? Jesus."_

_She watched him dress, trembling and cold. It was like watching a horror film. Like being in a horror film. She clutched an electronic pencil sharpener in her hand, ready to hurl it if he said another word._

_The corner of Dean_ _’_ _s eye was bleeding from the some projectile she'_ _d thrown. He held up his hands to show he meant no harm. "Look, I..."_

_She reared back as if to throw._

_“Okay." He slipped into the hallway._

_Something banged against the door from the other side. Two coeds with pastel colored towels wrapped around their bodies and heads gawked at him and giggled to one another. He stood there, dazed. Dean turned around and nearly knocked on the door again._

_Cassie pressed herself to the other side, with one eye shut, the other peering through the peephole at him. She willed herself to back away and sit down on the foot of her bed, perfectly still as if she had an iron rod in her back. Her throat burned, face stung. Her whole body trembled. She shoved down a hiccup of a whimper, swallowing it. Refusing to cry._

_Dean walked, unseeing. He wasn'_ _t even sure how he had gotten back to the motel when he collapsed, face first and fully dressed onto the bed and fucking cried himself to sleep. Like a four year old._

_It had been his plan to give her a chance to cool off. He'd go back the next day: make it right, explain himself, find out what the hell was making him want to hurt her and make it stop. That was the plan._

_His dad had come in before dawn, kicked his foot and growled,_ _“_ _Got the bastard. Get packed._ _”_

_It took Dean a moment to wake up and fully process what was going on._ _“_ _I need to see Cassie._ _”_

_“_ _Son, I told you_ _…”_

_“_ _I need to say goodbye._ _”_ _There was a hell of a lot more that he needed to say._

_“I_ _f you feel like you need to see her one more time, it's better if you don'_ _t._ _”_


	6. Chapter 6

Cassie wiped at the dry spittle at the corners of her mouth. Dean had fallen asleep, too, spooned behind her with his arms encircling her body like iron chains. It felt good to be held. To be with him. To be getting a second chance at this. But she had to pee.

She wiggled a little and tapped his hand, signaling that she needed to move. “Let me up.”

He clung even tighter when she budged.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Stay.” The idea of letting her go was filling him with an irrational panic. He knew it was crazy, but that didn’t ease the terror.

“I’ll be right back. You want some water?”

“I don’t want to let you go. I can’t.” Dean hoped he had managed to make it sound romantic, not obsessive, like he felt.

Cassie smiled over her shoulder at him. “Do you want me to pee on you?”

“Kinky. Try it.”

“Dean.” She started to pry his fingers from around her.

He held his breath; sank his teeth into his cheek. Drawing blood and focusing on the sting, he subdued the compulsion to strangle her to keep her from leaving the bed.

~

Bryce’s perfectly sculpted, entirely nude body glistened in the wavering glow of black candles. He sat cross legged in the center of a circle he had chalked on the floor. His eyes were shut and the lids painted black.

The job should have been done, but somehow he had failed. Goddamn it if Dean Winchester wasn’t a persistent cancer. The Commander had not communicated in more than a decade. There was no way to know for sure whether the Original Timeline was thwarted. He had once believed himself to have been a child with an overactive imagination, with his memories of men who spoke to him through mirrors. Then he had met Cassie Robinson, precisely when and where the Commander told him he would. The same was true of Winchester. And here those two were, together once again.

In a low voice, he murmured a prayer in a long-dead language. The muscles in his arms twitched as his hands worked feverishly, grinding dark, dried leaves in a large mortar and pestle.

*******

“I am an idiot.” Cassie stumbled from her bedroom, sleepily wiping the crust from her eyes.

What had started as a great night had ended horribly and her head still throbbed from forcing herself not to cry about it.

She pulled the cord that opened the blinds and squinted as the sunlight pierced the living room with a harsh light. The next step in her morning routine was to feed the black moor goldfish she’d received as a gag present from her father. According to her parents, she had requested Black Beauty as a kindergarten graduation present. As with every wish she ever made, her dad had promised to fulfill it, when the time was right. On the day of her high school graduation, instead of a horse, he had given her the fish.

“Oh, Marcus. No."

The poor little guy now floated on his side, body stiff as a stone, fins billowing limply on the surface of the water. Gingerly, Cassie scooped her pet out of the aquarium with a net and laid him in a round, steel tea tin. She pressed the lid firmly in place and dropped herself into a chair at the table in front of it. Then, she buried her face in her hands.

Cassie wasn't sure why she hadn't cried at her own father's funeral. Maybe it was because she knew she had to stay focused to solve the mystery of his murder. Or that someone needed be stay strong for her mother. As awful as their breakup had been, Cassie hadn't cried at seeing Dean again after all these years. As difficult as it had been to get over him _back then_ , she hadn’t shed a single tear. She had sucked it up, like she always did. Powered through it. Remained tough and pragmatic. Crying never brought anything or anyone back to you. It never fixed anything.

She had known the minute she agreed to go out with Dean that it was a dead-end relationship.

The differences between her parents were only superficial. Cassie was used to people craning their necks in curiosity and, occasionally, malice when they passed. She had grown up like that and didn’t care when it happened when she was out with Dean. The trouble was that _differences_ were all there were between the two of them. At least that was how it felt. All they had going for them was really great sex. He was like fire: alluring and hot and constantly threatening to scorch her to the ground. He was something she knew she had no business touching.

You couldn't build a future on sex. Why was she even kidding herself?

“What am I doing? What am I doing?”

She had dated men from around the world: highly educated, wealthy, older, smarter, infinitely more sophisticated men and even one or two whom she found more physically attractive. Among them, Dean was unique in that he was least like her dad, at least on the surface. Her father was a world traveled, well-read, gifted academic and businessman. Dean Winchester was, basically, a hick with a gun and an attitude.

Beneath all the obvious discrepancies, though, they were very much alike. The one thing Dean had in common with her dad was more heart than anyone she had ever met. It was an intangible quality: heart. One thing she knew beyond a shadow of doubt was that Dean cared. Sincerely, deeply. About her. About the whole dying, bleeding world.

What she didn’t understand was why he acted out sometimes. It was like he just lost his mind.

Now, finally alone in her apartment, with no one to impress or disappoint, no one to stay strong for or appear weak in front of, she broke into loud, ugly sobs, letting the tears and snot stream down her face and spill salty into her open mouth and down her chin. Her body rattled as she wept like she would never stop crying again.

The guest room door creaked open. Cassie frantically wiped the tears from her face with both hands and disappeared into the bathroom.

Sam wandered groggily out of the room. Seeing the bathroom door closed, he knocked gently.  Cassie replied, so he walked toward the kitchen, praying for a coffee maker. Instead, he found the fish in a can and small, wet net on the table. He lifted the container and peered in through the transparent top. When Cassie finally emerged from the bathroom, Sam was standing by the table with the tin in one of his large palms. “Should we bury him?”

“It’s a fish.” She had been going for casual, but had a feeling she had come off sounding bitchy. She drew in her lips apologetically and nodded.

Twenty minutes later, Sam leaned on the shovel and watched Cassie gingerly place the tin into the two foot hole among the roots of an oak tree behind the building. She stood up and settled herself beside Dean’s kindly little brother with a sigh.

 _‘_ _Kindly._ _’_ It was a word like ‘ heart. ’ You don ’ t use it in everyday speech. It ’ s kind of archaic and unusual, but Sam was like that: considerate in an almost weird, old-fashioned way. The word suited him. Kindly and youthful. He was an imposingly large man, maybe a foot taller than she was, with broad shoulders and a long gait. Still, he seemed so tender and young. Maybe it was that mop of hair or that Dean had always referred to him as his baby brother, Sammy, even _back then_.

“You want a stone or something?”

She shook her head silently, dusting her hands off on her denim skirt. “This is completely ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“You’ve lived with this little guy for eight years. It would be disrespectful to flush him down the toilet.”

Cassie nodded, took the shovel from him and filled the hole. “So, you and Dean are experts. Where do fish go when they die?”

Sam gave her a good-natured smile. “We haven’t encountered any fish ghosts yet, which I would interpret to mean that most of them have finished their earthly business when they depart.”

He was glad to see Cassie laugh. She had been through quite a lot in the last month and he had an idea how she felt. He took the shovel from her hands and began to accompany her back to the building.

“So, what else do you guys just have in your trunk besides shovels?”

Sam tensed at the question, “You probably don’t want to know.”

She considered who she was talking to and agreed, “No. I probably don’t. Have you heard from Dean?”

~

Dean had texted his brother to meet him at this all-you-can-eat restaurant. When Sam finally found him in the crowded place, he was hunched over, clumsily shoveling a bacon double cheeseburger into his mouth with sloppily bandaged hands. A thick, pink gash ran down the side of his face, but obviously did not interfere with the enjoyment of his meal.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Dean grunted and gestured toward the buffet. After a few minutes, Sam slid into the opposite booth with his plate of salad. “Please tell me it’s not another shapeshifter?”

Sometimes these things had families and cohorts who sought revenge. Maybe it wasn't so smart coming back to this town before getting the lay of the land. But was Dean really crazy enough to try to take them on alone?

“Sam. Eat,” Dean ordered through a mouth full of food.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Sam raked his fork absentmindedly through the lettuce. “Where were you this morning?”

“Out.”

Sam speared a tomato and forced himself to chew and swallow.

“Had some stuff to take care of,” Dean answered through his last mega mouthful of burger.

The truth was, he had slept in the car, but he wasn’t about to admit to it.

“Cassie’s fish died.” Sam continued to eat, more out of habit than hunger.

“Marcus Harvey?”

“Garvey. He was a… never mind.” Sam shook a little salt over his plate and surveyed the salad. Maybe he should have it packed to go. Dean would have a field day with that.

Dean sucked his teeth. “She loved that fucking fish.”

“Yeah, I know. I helped her bury it.” He forced down another bite.

“Oh. Cool.”

Nicole, their waitress, was a pretty blonde. The kind of girl Dean usually went nuts for. She leaned on the edge of the table, batting her lashes shamelessly and asked, “You boys need anything else?”

“I’m good. You?” Dean asked Sam without really looking at her.

As she walked away Sam gawked, “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

Sure, Dean had seen the girl. He wasn’t dead. There were just more pressing matters on his mind.  He threw a twenty on the table and started to get up. “Geek.”

~

**_LAST NIGHT_ **

_It had been quite dark out by the time Cassie slipped from the bathroom. Unable to make himself let her go, Dean had followed her as far as the living room. Feeling needy and alone, he tried the locked doorknob before rubbing his hand pathetically down the bathroom door. Then he tapped lightly on it with his middle finger before compelling himself to back away_

_By the time she came back out, he had gratefully regained some measure of self-control and felt like himself again. Her hair was damp and dripping onto the shoulders of a grey t-shirt dress that skimmed her knees. She slowly ran a wide-toothed comb through her locks as she declared,_ _“_ _Okay. Water_ _’_ _s nice and hot. You're up._ _”_

 _Dean left his post by the entertainment center and gave a lecherous smile. He took the comb from her hand. She looked up into his eyes as he carefully stroked her head with his palm after each pass of the comb through her thick hair. Reveling in the familiar, tropical scent of her shampoo, he worked meticulously, like a small girl grooming a cherished doll. When he was done, he returned the comb and smirked._ _“_ _I smell like you. I_ _’_ _m not washing that off until I have to._ _”_

_She swallowed thickly and swayed slightly where she stood, feeling dizzy and warm. Already, again, her body ached for his touch, but Dean stepped away to drop the needle on the record he had left spinning. He closed his eyes and reveled in that holy vinyl scratch before the song began to play._

_His lips pursed like Jagger as he nodded in time to the opening guitar riff of one of the greatest songs ever written. Lip syncing the words, he started a slow two-step toward her._ _‘_ _Baby,_ _when I think about you, I think about looooove._ _’_ _  
_

_Cassie scratched her neck and looked away, trying not to let on how much she adored his antics._

_Dean spun and began to sing out loud,_ _“_ _And if I had those golden dreams_ _…”_

 _His voice wasn_ _’_ _t great, but he was really into it. On the word_ _“_ _yesterday,_ _”_ _he took her hand and drew her close. She laughed and let him have his way._

 _“_ _I feel like makin_ _’.”_ _Dean released her to get low with some funky air guitar._ _“_ _Duh-dunt dun, duh-dunt dun. Duh-dunt dun._ _”_

 _His voice cracked on the high notes of the chorus, but he kept on singing and performing as if he was on stage in a stadium in front of forty thousand adoring fans._ _“_ _Feel like making love to you._ _”_

 _When Paul Rodgers started crooning the second verse, Dean took his lady in his arms, mimicking the wisp of a memory of his dad with his mom. He planted a chaste kiss on her cheek, still whispering the words against her neck. He couldn_ _’_ _t help bang his head just a little when the choruses rocked out so hard. Out of respect, he didn't speak a word until the guitar solo._ _“_ _Yeah. Now_ this _is music._ _”_

 _“_ _What is this?_ _”_ _Cassie thought the song wasn_ _’_ _t horrible._

 _Dean immediately stopped dancing and took a step back. They'd had countless moments like this back then. It was like they were from different planets. How had he managed to fall for a girl who didn't know this song?_ _“_ _You_ _’_ _re kidding, right?_ _”_

_She listened to a few more bars before shaking her head._

_Dean didn_ _’_ _t even try to conceal his disappointment. He clasped his head against his forehead and sighed._ _“_ _It was in your stuff. Bad Company. Straight Shooter. Come on, Cassie. Meet me halfway._ _”_

 _“_ _Oh. I got that from you. Remember?_ _”_

 _Now that she_ _’_ _d said it, he did remember. He_ _’_ _d bought it for her at a consignment store while she shopped for clothes. They'd listened to it that same night while making dinner over her hot plate._ _“_ _Well, at least somebody in your life has good taste._ _”_

 _He pulled her close again, just enjoying the music and the feel of her small, warm body against his. Her slight curves so familiar. Just like back then, he couldn_ _’_ _t believe this exquisite creature belonged to him, even if only for the time being. Dean thought about saying something like that and figured it would come across all wrong. She_ _’_ _d start a speech about slavery or human trafficking. Instead, he let himself get swept up by the music._ _“_ _What do you have that comes close to this?_ _”_

 _Cassie was ripped out of her own reverie, but she reached for a good answer._ _“_ _Mmmm. Luther Vandross._ _”_

 _“_ _No way. Just, no._ _”_ _The thought of that whining made Dean_ _’_ _s balls shrivel just a little._

 _Cassie smiled. She had a very clear memory of Dean_ _’_ _s reaction the first time she had put on a little smooth jazz to set the mood. He had nearly curled himself into a ball and started weeping in agony._ _“_ _Okay. Barry White,_ _”_ _she tried again._

 _Dean weighed the suggestion with a back and forth tilt of his head. He had to admit, the guy had a kickass speaking voice. He could just imagine all the ladies dropping their panties on command of that voice. He did his best Barry White impression:_ _“_ _Whatever whatever._ _”_

_Cassie laughed and shoved him a little._

_As_ _“_ _Weep No More_ _”_ _began to play, Dean picked up the pace of their dancing just a bit. He heard the lyrics in a way he hadn_ _’_ _t before._

**_I hear your voice in the wind_ **

**_And I feel your tears in the rain_ **

**_Shadows of night are falling_ **

**_Can't you hear me call your name_ **

_Somehow, just being close with Cassie jolted up a long gone image of his dad playing guitar while both of his parents sang harmonies. How could he have forgotten that? Was it even real? So much of his life was just dark and cruel. But not this. This was pure goodness. This girl was going to be his salvation. Dean knew that, like he always had._

_Cassie swayed easily with him, her wrists locked behind his neck. Dean looked at her mouth. Just looked at it. Girls were always going on about his lips, but Cassie had, by far, the most succulent mouth he had ever kissed. Full lips that made him hungry. Made him want to slow fuck her into eternity. Back then, she always used to wear chapstick that he thought was watermelon flavored. Mentioning that had started fight._

_Dean slid the tip of his tongue across the seam of those sumptuous lips. His intention was to drive her crazy, to wind it up and make it last until she never wanted to let him go. Instead she pushed him away._ _“_ _Shit._ _”_

 _“_ _What?_ _”_ _Dean furrowed his brow, uncertain what he had done wrong._

 _“_ _I totally forgot. I have a deadline in two days. I haven't done a single thing. .. I don_ _’_ _t know why I thought I_ _’_ _d get anything done back home_ _…_ _Shit._ _”_

 _“_ _How can I help?_ _”_

 _“_ _You can_ _’_ _t. Just let me work._ _”_ _She peeled his hand from her arm._

_A bitter twinge went through him, like a dagger twisting in his gut._

_Sensing his disappointment, she touched his cheek._ _“_ _I_ _’_ _m sorry._ _”_

 _“_ _No. No problem._ _”_

_As she started from the room, his fist battered the record player. The disc splintered. Unable to stop himself, he viciously hammered and banged the machine with his bare hands like an enraged primate. Every time he brought his hand down, it was her face he saw in his mind. He imagined blood spurting from her broken nose, splattering on his face. Those perfect lips bursting. Eyes bulging as he pummeled her. Finally, he ripped the thing from the socket and threw it against the opposite wall. He was panting out his breath, wanting nothing more than to end Cassie as she stood stock still, staring at him._

_Before she could think of something to say, he was barreling toward her, wordlessly shouting his frustration, reaching for her with both bloody hands out like Frankenstein_ _’_ _s monster. Cassie_ _’_ _s eyes grew wide as her sense of self preservation kicked in. She grabbed a lamp from the table beside the sofa and swung hard._

_The pain and the cracking sound of the porcelain against his own skull stunned Dean enough to bring him to his senses. His hand trembled, still yearning to crush her.  He stumbled back a step, then turned and ran from the apartment._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREVIEW: Chapter 7
> 
> Bryce gives Cassie some advice. Sam hears the story of how she and his brother met.
> 
>  
> 
> BOOKMARK to stay tuned. COMMENT to let me know what you think or with any questions.  
> Is there anything you want to see happen? If it fits with my vision for the story, I’ll work it in.


	7. Chapter 7

It only took a flick of Bryce’s wrist to send the photo to the ground where the black plastic frame broke, but the transparent plastic stayed in tact. In the snapshot, they were at a restaurant. Dean’s arm was slung around Cassie’s shoulder, a huge smile plastered on his face as she kissed his cheek. It was really a great shot. Sam had taken it that first night and given it to her framed.

“You did that on purpose.”

“There are other hot fish in the sea, Cass,” Bryce said.

“What is wrong with the men around here? Clean that up.”

He obeyed, picking up the pieces and dumping everything, including the photo, in the kitchen trash. “I didn’t want to say it.”

“Then don’t. Go home.” She used her pointer finger to skim through the magazine. “Thanks for this. I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

“I don't trust that guy, Cassie.”

“Then don't date him, Bryce.”

“The brother doesn't seem too bad. Why don’t you go for him?”

She cringed like he had said something truly disgusting. “Because brothers aren't interchangeable.”

“He’s…”

“We've been through this.” Cassie circled a picture in her mag with a thick, black marker.

“You love him and that just makes everything okay?”

She groaned and rolled her eyes. “Why do I tell you anything?”

“Because you know it’s not right. He helped you, so he gets to hit you?”

“He didn’t hit me,” she corrected, although she knew it was a matter of semantics.

“You said yourself, he clearly wanted to.”

Cassie closed the magazine. It was impossible to concentrate like this, not that she’d had much luck when Bryce wasn’t there. “That’s… I thought… I don’t know what happened.”

“He went psycho. Broke your record player. And your lamp.”

“I broke the lamp.” That was technically true.

“When he came after you? And he’s been acting like a total freak ever since?”

“It was yesterday.” And she hadn’t seen him since.

“Volatile, violent, unpredictable. Dangerous.” The gun made a low, heavy clunk when he sat it on the table.

Cassie didn’t even see where it came from, but gawked between the handgun and where Bryce stood with his arms folded across his chest. 

“Take that out of here.”

“You know how to use it. Your dad kept guns, didn't he? To protect the house. He would want you to be safe.”

She started to walk away, shaking her head, incredulous at the suggestion. 

He stepped in front of her. “Cassie. Dean Winchester is a maniac. At best. You know I'm right. I don't know what he's into, but I can tell it's not … savory. I mean, what are he and his brother always doing in the trunk of that ridiculous car? I know you don’t want to admit to yourself that he’s trouble, but I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. Just take it. Put it somewhere.”

“He would never hurt me.” Even as Cassie spoke the words, she felt her own doubt. 

“It would make me feel a lot better.”

Finally, she cursed under her breath and snatched it from the table. She emptied the bullets into her left palm and dropped them into a potted plant. From where she stood, she searched for a good place to hide the gun. In the end, she put it on the top of her book shelf behind a photograph of her parents. “Happy?”

“I'd be even happier if it were loaded.”

 

CHAPTER 7

Dean had wanted very much not to see her, so when he saw her, he tried to pretend that he hadn’t. Cassie sat on the sofa with her feet on the coffee table, furiously typing, when he struggled to enter the apartment with a new record player in his arms. She watched him set it up where the other one had been and plug it in. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I did.” Dean stood there for a long while, just looking at her. 

He wanted to go over and sit down. To apologize and explain. Explain what, though? That he was either completely fucking out of his mind or that their relationship was cursed, like he’d known it was back then? He knew that she would believe him now, after the things she’d seen. But then what? He had no idea what was going on and no idea how to stop it, yet. When he knew, he’d fix it and everything would be good again.

“Are you going to keep running away from me, Dean?”

He scoffed, shook his head, giving her a look like she was crazy for thinking that and promptly fled the apartment. 

***

Sam stumbled from the guest room, dragging a hand through his messy hair before massaging his lower back. He wasn’t going to complain about the futon, but it really wasn’t long enough or comfortable enough to qualify as a bed. He’d been laying on the floor staring at the ceiling for the two nights since they’d been in Cassie’s apartment. Getting up to stretch his muscles, he found their hostess on the sofa in the dark living room. The only light was from the computer screen in her lap that cast an eerie glow on her solemn face.

She heard him but didn’t look up from what she was doing.

“You're up early.”

“Late." Her fingers flew over the keyboard, clicking away as she continued her rapid-fire typing.

“You are going to sleep, right?”

“Theoretically possible, when I get this done. My own fault for putting it off.” She treated herself to a sip from the steaming cup of tea on the coffee table. Without looking up, she added, “Have you heard from your brother?”

“He’s not here?”

Cassie pursed her lips, sorry she’d asked.

“He’s probably…” Sam stopped short. He had no idea where Dean could be at this hour. He’d been acting so weird lately, Sam didn't even know what to speculate. Grasping for a change in subject, he gestured at the laptop. “What are you working on?”

She gave an exaggerated shiver, “I’m sorry, Sam. I can’t stand people reading over my shoulders. Come sit down or something.”

“Do you mind?” He took a seat next to her on the sofa and leaned over slightly to take a peek at the screen. Sam read aloud, “Condi Rice’s Make-Up Faux Pas.”

“Not exactly intellectually stimulating, but it pays the bills. You would be amazed how many people actually give a shit about this kind of thing.”

Sam shrugged, “Who am I to judge? You’ve seen what I do for a living. Besides, your piece on Jimmy Soames was… inspiring.”

Cassie stopped what she was doing and looked at him for the first time since he joined her, “You read it?” 

“Made me wish I'd known the man. Hey, you got a little…" His hand moved toward her face, but stopped short of actually making contact. 

Cassie touched one of her own fingers to the crumb on her cheek. She smiled, a little embarrassed. “Oh. Thanks. There are danish in the fridge, if you want.”

After a moment, when Sam hadn’t moved, she glanced up at him. “Do you need anything, Sam?”

“I‘m bothering you? I can go back…” He jerked his thumb toward the room and started to stand.

“It’s okay. I could use a break.” She rubbed her eyes for a moment and closed the notebook. Suddenly, they were sitting in the dark. They both laughed awkwardly as she opened the computer again to return the faint light. “I don’t know how you guys do what you do and remain sane.”

“For one thing, I would never say we were sane.”

Cassie snickered. Their eyes met for a moment. It was too warm, too intimate. Instantly diffusing the heat in her chest, Cassie put on her most matronly smile. “You need tea.”

She sat the computer between them on the couch and stood.

“No, I'm all right. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

She called over her shoulder. “It’s no bother and I won't take no for an answer. It's amazing stuff. Sit back down. I'll bring it to you.”

The first thing she did was flick on an overhead light.

Obediently, Sam settled at the small, round dining table where the fish tank had been. Curious, he stroked the leaves of one of the succulent plants that were arranged neatly in small white pots. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” She tapped the button on the electronic kettle and it started a low hum.

“What’s with all the tea?”

Cassie bowed her head and chuckled.

Sam laughed, too, relieved that she wasn’t offended. “Don’t get me wrong. It's nice. I just haven't drunken as much tea in my life as in the last two weeks since we’ve met. Did you study a semester in England or something?”

“No. Nothing like that. It's just this organic, imported stuff I started drinking in college. I basically couldn’t live without it.” She pulled down a mug from an upper cabinet and showed it to him. 

Sam read out loud, “World’s Greatest Kid. From your dad?”

Cassie nodded and bit on her lower lip for a moment. The psychologist bill was going to be enormous when she finally processed everything she’d been through. Once again, she shoved down the emotion. 

She scooped a spoonful of the dark green powder from a steel canister into Sam’s mug and delivered it, on a saucer, directly to his hands. “Voila.”

“Mercí.” Sam smiled and looked down at his drink. He was concerned that he might be flirting and definitely didn't mean to be.

“If you don't like it, you don't have to…"

“No, I do. I…” He admired the mug and turned it to find a name written on the back. “Cassiopeia? Really? Like the constellation?”

Cassie laughed and nodded. “There are not very many people who know that. My dad was quite the amateur astronomer. If I’d have had a brother, they would have named him Orion.”

Sam smiled, “So, does that mean if we go outside right now you could impress me with your knowledge of the night sky?”

“If we went outside right now, we'd be lucky if we could see the moon. It's better at my parents place. I'll wow you next time we’re out there.”

“I’m already wowed.” Okay, Sam knew that he was definitely flirting. ‘Don’t be a dick, Sam,’ he thought to himself and had a whiff of the steam blowing off the cup. The smell of it was slightly pungent, but it did relax him. It took his mind off the curve of Cassie’s fingers around her own mug. 

“Now, you know. Let me guess … you’re actually Samson.”

Sam shook his head. “Nope. It’s Samuel. After my grandfather.”

“Or Sammy.”

He winced. “I really don’t like to be called that.”

She laughed again and hung her head. “I noticed.” 

“Yeah, and Dean says it constantly.”

They both laughed. Cassie swallowed a warm swig before suggesting, “If you ever want to get him back, call him Dino.”

“Dino?” Sam grimaced.

“Yeah. He hates it.” She snickered to herself, remembering the priceless look on his face when Sal, the guy who owned the pool hall off campus, had called Dean that.

“Noted.” Sam would definitely make use of that one.

Cassie headed back to her laptop on the sofa. “You’re welcome.”

Sam spun on his chair to watch her. Maybe the tea had loosened him up, but he didn’t seem to be able to stop talking. “Hey, Cassie. If you don’t mind, I’m just kind of curious about something.”

“You’re curious about a lot of things, apparently.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I guess so. I’m just wondering, how much do you know about our family?”

“How do I answer that question? Whatever Dean told me, I know.”

Sam nodded. “That’s what I mean. I can’t imagine what he must have told you. It’s like pulling teeth, getting him to talk at all. At least to me.”

Cassie tried to think of everything Dean had told her then and now. “Well, about you… I know you were in college when we met. Stanford, right? He was really proud of you. Still is. The way he talks about you.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, “Are we talking about the same person?”

“And totally infuriated.”

“Now, that sounds right.” He took a careful sip.

“And he worships your dad.”

Sam pursed his lips and let her continue.

“But you don’t.”

“No comment.”

She smiled.

He caved immediately. “Completely off the record. I love my family, but I … sometimes, I think I’m cut from a different cloth.

Cassie considered that for a moment. “You know, I always wondered what it'd be like to have a sibling. Like now, it’d be great to have someone to help me check in on my mom.”

“It probably would depend on who that sibling is.” Sam didn’t want to say too much and he probably just had.

“You and Dean get along, don't you?”

“Surprisingly, most of the time, we do. I mean, I trust him with my life.”

“Yeah. I do, too. Which is odd, considering…” Cassie clipped the statement, already having gone further than she’d intended.

“Considering what?”

She shook her head. If Dean wanted to discuss what went on between them with his brother, he most certainly could. Cassie was not going to do it. She wouldn’t even have known where to start.

Sam held up a finger. “Another question.”

“Okay. I think you’re down to seventeen, though.”

He smiled and nodded, “That poem in the bathroom, with the pressed flowers. That’s Dean’s handwriting, isn’t it?” He didn't mention the little cloth pouch he’d found stashed under the bathroom sink. At first, Sam had been concerned that someone was hexing Cassie, but a quick smell test revealed angelica root and van van oil were among the ingredients. Sam deduced that it was part of Dean’s due diligence in protecting the place.

Cassie grinned, remembering the day, back then, when she had found the hand-whittled wooden frame on her desk. “Astute observation, counsel. He didn't write the poem, though.”

“I know. It’s, uh, Langston Hughes, isn't it? Song for Lucinda?”

Now, she was officially impressed and didn’t bother trying to conceal it. “You are full of surprises, Sam.”

He felt his face warm at Cassie’s approval. “My girlfriend turned me onto his work. She was really into him. I would have thought Dean was allergic to poetry. And did he actually press those flowers?”

She nodded. Dean had given her that a few days after moving into her tiny room. Even after he was gone, it was too beautiful to toss. It was one of the few keepsakes she had kept from their whirlwind time together. That, and apparently, the record that she had never listened to.

Sam was still doing the math in his head. Dean always went after gorgeous women, so that was no surprise. But usually, his brother got his physical gratification with vacuous bimbos and then he was on his way. Cassie was amazing in ways that reminded Sam of Jess: assiduous, passionate, smart. Not that Dean wasn’t great in his own ways, but these two just didn’t seem like a match. However, like Dean had told him time and again, it wasn’t his business. “Question sixteen.”  
“I get my twenty when you’re done.” Cassie held the computer on her lap, but didn’t open it yet.  
Sam snickered, “Deal. How on earth did you two meet?”  
“Dean didn’t tell you?”

As if. “His version was basically three words.”

Cassie finished her tea before beginning. “Well, the AASU…”

“African American Student Union?” Sam made sure he knew what she was talking about. A few of his friends had been in the club, but he didn’t know much about it.

“Yeah. We were having our annual fish fry…”

Dean had followed the free food. That made sense.

~

BACK THEN

Dean had been questioning college students for hours when he saw the poster for a free fish dinner. Never a man to miss out on an opportunity to mix business and pleasure, he followed the sign into a room full of outstanding smells, live jazz and African Americans engaged in animated conversation. It was a pretty relaxed atmosphere except for all the heads that turned to watch as he made his way over to the buffet. 

He nodded and waved at people he didn't know, chalking even the most malicious stares up to curiosity. He wasn’t here to fight. He was here to eat.

“Am I cool to be here, sir?”

The older man behind the table who was doling out green beans nodded, “All are welcome, brother. Help yourself.”

“Awesome.” Dean surveyed the room while he hummed his approval at the incredible burst of flavors in his mouth.

Once he was done, he returned the plate with a hearty dose of gratitude and began approaching people with his photograph of the maimed professor. 

There was at least one other guy, one with fair skin, who stood out in this crowd. He was talking to a serious looking, seriously hot brown girl with curls nearly to her ass. Dean had no trouble admitting to himself that the guy was attractive, in that Mediterranean way: pitch black hair and dark features, like his dad. He was a worthy opponent for this girl’s attention.

Good food, hot girl and all on the clock. Had to love this job. Now, if only it paid.

Dean assessed the situation. The girl and the guy were standing close, facing each other. The girl stole a piece a fruit from the guy’s plate. That suggested intimacy, but the distance between them made Dean suspect that the guy was stuck firmly in the friend zone. 

Game on.

If Bryce had been thinking clearly, he would have known that the worst thing he could do was try to control Cassie. But he was, understandably, on edge, afraid to mess this up. He gripped the young woman by the arm, “Don't talk to him. He looks like trouble.”

She looked the new guy over. He seemed almost drunk with confidence, a huge smile splitting his undeniably handsome face. It was the kind of face, he was the kind of guy, that a lot of girls probably went for. Usually, Cassie would have been utterly turned off by his strut, but Bryce’s order was like a direct challenge. She took an imperceptible step forward and offered her hand, “Cassie Robinson. This is my associate.” 

“Cassie.” Dean kissed the back of her hand with his fish-greasy lips. 

She laughed, mainly because Bryce was beside himself with irritation. His eyes were wide and unblinking watching the exchange. A hand clasped him on the shoulder. Sweaty and startled, Bryce hesitated and let himself be dragged into another conversation, never taking his eyes from Cassie and Dean.

Dean couldn't have been better served if he had orchestrated the distraction himself, “What’s with your friend? He looks constipated.”

Cassie shrugged, “I guess you make him nervous.”

Somehow, that comment reminded Dean of the case and he held out his photo for her to see. After all, he was here to work. She recognized the prof. She knew his name, but not his field. It was soon clear that Cassie Robinson didn't have any useful intel. It was also clear to Dean that he wanted her. “If you think of anything else.”

Cassie examined the business card he had handed her. He definitely didn’t seem like FBI.

Dean pulled a small pad and pen from his inside jacket pocket. “And I'm going to need your number. In case I have any more questions. Like if something occurs to me in the middle of the night. You know, on second thought, maybe it's just best if you were somewhere I can put my hands on you at all times.”

Cassie tilted her head, “You can't possibly think that’s appropriate conduct. And shouldn't you have a partner? How about we come to an agreement, Agent … Richards?” She read the name from the card. “I won't call your superior and tell them you're being a creep on duty and you tell me what this is investigation is all about.”

Dean was actually amused by her threat, especially since she’d just be calling his father. “How about we sweeten the deal with drinks?” 

“I don’t drink.”

“Then, coffee.”

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“Who doesn’t drink coffee?” He asked, incredulous. This was never going to work out.

“Is this still part of the interrogation?” Cassie folded her arms over her chest.

There was something about this girl, if only the thrill of the chase. “All right. I saw a pool hall coming into town. How about we go shoot a few rounds?” It would give him a chance to show off a little, maybe cozy up behind her, show her how to hold the stick.

“You want to shoot pool?” She smirked. 

He grinned wolfishly, “Sure. I don't bite. And maybe I'll be less of a creep when I'm off duty.”

“I really doubt it.”

~

As it turned out, this girl was good at pool. Crazy good. Run-for-Dean’s-money good. And she had hustled him: not for money, but she had pretended not to know how to play. She let him spend twenty minutes explaining how to bank a shot. Then, she had proceeded to best him not once, but three out of seven games.

While they played, she had interrogated him about his investigation until Dean figured out that she was a journalism major, itching for a bleeding lead.

By the end of the night, she let him walk her back to her dorm, but hadn’t given him so much as a peck on the cheek. His typical MO would have been to chalk her up as a difficult waste of time. Instead, he heard himself ask, “Can we do this again sometime?”

“I don’t know, Agent Richards. This was a business meeting for me. And not a very fruitful one.”

“Just hang out. Exchange notes.” Dean was shocked at himself. He was seriously asking for a second date from a girl who hadn’t put out. 

Cassie had to admit that she had enjoyed herself. He wasn’t just a face. He was warm and silly and really easy to talk to. “Maybe next weekend.”

Dean’s heart sank a little. “I’m not sure I’ll be around that long.”

She looked him over, sizing him up and thought, ‘what the hell.’ “I’m assigned to review a concert on campus tomorrow night. It would be a weird coincidence if we both happen to be there. Wouldn’t it?”

~

Dean was a twenty-oneyear-old music lover who had never been to a concert. He was a grown man who hadn’t gone out with the same girl twice since he was sixteen. He told himself, the key to success in life was to remain cool. The cool thing would be to stop glancing over at her, but he couldn’t help himself. At least half of the time, he found her smiling back at him, then, shaking her head. It made her curls bounce in the most adorable way, which made his stomach flip in a decidedly uncool way. 

~

They sat in the Impala under a streetlamp with the heater blasting warm air on their feet while they talked about everything from music to movies to politics. There was a lot of laughing, more shouting and almost no common ground between them. Cassie was as strictly old school R&B as Dean was unbendingly classic rock. The only thing they saw eye to eye on was that most pop music sucked and that the band that night had been shit except for the one Prince cover. 

She had gotten worked up over social issues, especially involving minorities and women and was incensed at his lack of knowledge and involvement. He had sat with his chin on his fist and listened to her regale, thinking that he had never seen anything more enchanting in his life. Dean watched her mouth, missing most of the words. He wanted to kiss her so badly his own lips buzzed. 

Finally, Cassie looked at him and seemed to realize he was staring. She covered her nose and mouth with her fingers for a moment. "Do I have something in my teeth?"

"No." He laughed, "No. Just…" ‘In love with you, I think.’ He didn't say it, but it freaked him out to be thinking it.

Suddenly uncomfortable, she rested her hand on the door handle, “Well, Agent Richards …"

“It's Dean.”

She looked at him. She had already promised herself and Bryce that she was not going to go out with this guy again. He was good-looking and easygoing, but not anybody you let yourself develop real feelings for. He was the kind of guy a sorority girl might fuck after drinking too much and then forget about.

“Winchester … Richards is a … Sometimes, we assume false identities to protect … when… Actually, I'm not FBI. I'm actually… I'm a hunter.” The truth just tumbled out of his mouth.

Cassie’s eyes grew wide at the admission. She had known when she met him that he wasn’t FBI. “A hunter?”

Dean quickly caught himself. “Bounty. Hunter. You know … Guys skip bail and we, my dad and I, we track them down and cuff ‘em and…” He made himself stop talking.

She cocked her head, doubtful. “You telling me that Professor Mendoza skipped bail?”

“No. He … Might have had some information. It's not important.” The tangled web of lies and truths he was weaving was going to trap him if he wasn’t careful.

“You're very strange, you know that?”

“I'm also cute.” Dean smiled and raised his eyebrows, angling for a laugh.

She didn’t even crack a smile. “No. You're not cute.”

“Ouch.” Despite his best efforts, Dean was offended.

“You’re … not cute.” He was irresistible. A rush of warmth ran through her entire body and she reached for the door again.

“Cassie.”

Suddenly, she barked back at him. “You do this on every case, don’t you? Pick up some girl and try to make her fall for you. Sportsman, right?”

“No.” He was stunned by her sudden attack. The truth was, he was always looking for a chance to get laid. This already felt like something else. 

She could feel herself beginning to capitulate and cursed under her breath. “What's the point? You said yourself you don’t even know how long you’re in town.”

“So, you gonna pass up a chance at a good time just because it's going to end?”

“Why even start something up with a guy if I know it’s not going anywhere?” She asked herself out loud. 

“Why go to Disney World if you can’t move in?” Dean thought it was a good counterargument. He should have been a lawyer. Sammy would be proud.

Cassie cocked her head, trying not to be amused. “Are you comparing yourself to Disney World?”

“I am one hell of a ride.” Again, Dean was mostly joking. Not that he didn't want to get her in bed. Mostly, he just wanted to see her again. No strings. 

She huffed and shook her head. “Good night, Agent.” Unlike most of her friends, she’d been able to keep her college regrets to a minimum. She forced herself out of the car to keep it that way.

He stood up out of his door and called after her. “It's Dean.”

She didn’t even turn around. He had stared up at the building for an embarrassingly long time, knowing that she was in there somewhere. Reading, answering emails, writing her review, showering, brushing all that hair, getting ready for bed. 

~

During the course of their conversation, Cassie had gone over a day in the life of a student for him. He couldn’t believe he had actually found it interesting enough to remember. Or that he found her interesting enough to wake up that frigging early. 

The next morning at 7:30, Dean was out there, at what felt like the ass crack of dawn, when she walked out of the building with a friend. The other girl gave him the most lurid gaze he’d gotten in a while. He didn't know whether to say ‘good morning’ or file a sexual harassment suit. She whispered something to Cassie that could not have been polite and spun twice to look at him again as she walked away.

“You make an impression, don’t you?” Cassie hugged her arms around her books.

“I feel a little dirty.” He shuddered a little. Not that the other girl was unattractive, but Dean felt weird about being put on display like that in front of Cassie. And then, he felt even stranger about feeling weird about it.

She began to walk briskly, presumably toward her class, definitely away from Dean. 

Cassie knew she had just the right amount of time to get there and that did not include shooting the shit with Agent Dean Richards Winchester or whatever his name was. 

He kept pace alongside her.

“Are you stalking me, Agent?”

He winced. “Would you stop calling me that? I told you my name.”

She smiled, but didn’t slow or look at him.

“Here.” He handed her the steaming cup he had been holding by one of those stupid cardboard grips.

“What is this?”

“Tea.” He raised his brow as she held it to her nose.

“Peppermint.”

He nodded. “Did I do good?"

Cassie stopped long enough to have a small, scalding sip. She had gotten in so late last night, after talking with him until the wee hours, that she’d overslept and subsequently, skipped breakfast. This would tide her over until she could grab a bite. “Thank you.”

He pumped his fist in the air and she laughed.

Throwing her own caution and Bryce’s constant nagging to the wind, she asked, “When do you leave?”

"When the job is done." Too soon, he was sure. It was like he was in a different world with Cassie: a different universe, where all the spooky shit couldn’t touch him. 

“I have class, then work, then, I need to study. If you want to meet up afterwards, for dinner or something.” 

“That would be awesome.” He knew he had said the words too soon to sound cool, but it didn't matter. 

Cassie smiled a little, perched up on her tiptoes and pecked his cheek. "See you later. Agent."

His lungs and his feet stopped functioning properly, as all of the warmth in his body seemed to pool around the spot where her mouth had barely touched. It felt so pure and innocent, as if he had never been kissed in his life. 

She turned around backwards to correct herself, “Dean.” 

Then, she jogged off, leaving a minty haze behind her.

~

Sam couldn’t help smiling. It was a sweet story. He could definitely see how they were a classic case of opposites attracting. “One more question. I swear, this is the last one. I know it’s not my business, but what’s with you and Bryce? He seems very … interested in you.”

She got up to get herself a refill. “I should hope so. He's my best friend.”

“Just friends?” Sam raises an eyebrow, thinking the guy would be crazy not to make a move on her. “You don't think he … Bryce is… You know … looking for more? With you, I mean?” Sam held his nose over the steam, still watching Cassie’s reactions closely.

“Definitely not. And not for lack of trying on my part." She laughed to herself.

“What do you mean?” He shifted a little in his seat.

“Since you want to know everything, I met Bryce at the AASU my first year at Ohio.”

Sam had assumed that Bryce’s heritage was Latin or southern European, but if the club had let his brother in, there’d be no issue in any case. 

“You saw him. He looks like Enrique Iglesias or something. My girlfriends were all giggling like a bunch of middle schoolers. I just asked him out.”

Sam huffed. “Just like that?”

She shrugged.

“Like I said: fearless.” He had already made that observation to Dean earlier. If there was any woman who could stomach what they did for a living, this was the one.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Sam smelled his tea, again.

Cassie went on. “So, we went to this club and unlike most guys I’ve ever gone out with, he was not only willing to dance, he never wanted to stop. And he was the best dancer I have ever met. Have you ever seen Dean dance?”

“Yeah. It’s awful.” Sam laughed.

Cassie joined him. “Exactly. Like most guys.”

Sam leaned in and whispered like it is the world’s biggest secret. “Don’t tell my brother this, but I can dance. My girlfriend made me take lessons and I’m not bad.”

“What? You mean like ballroom, Dancing With the Stars?” She had a hard time imagining this huge man lumbering across the dance floor. 

“Everything. Waltz, Salsa, Tango, Lambada. It was really, very excruciating. Physically and mentally.”

They both laughed.

Cassie could understand why Sam didn’t want Dean to know. He would never let Sam live that down. She, on the other hand, was fully intrigued. “You are going to have to demonstrate that sometime.”

He raised his mug as if to toast and nodded before he had a sip.

“So, how does that work, with you and your girlfriend and being on the road with Dean?” Cassie subdued a tiny, but completely inappropriate prick of envy at the fact that Sam had someone. She had Dean, so that was stupid. 

But, did she really have Dean? Where the hell was he? Why was he acting like such a freak? Again. It didn’t matter. She was not going to think anything of Dean’s little brother other than that he was an interesting person. And nice to talk to. And obviously, very inquisitive.

Sam weighed his words carefully, “Well, it probably wouldn’t have worked out, but she’s… gone, so…”

“Oh. Sam. I’m sorry.” Cassie hadn’t expected that. She sat back in her chair.

“Not your fault.” He shrugged and tried to smile. It felt false, so he retreated into his cup.

She tried to think of what to say. “What was her name?”

“Jessica.” Sam barely breathed it.

“Poetry. Dancing. She sounds like my kind of girl.” Cassie hated when people back home tried to skirt the fact that her dad had passed. So, she did the opposite. “When did she…How?”

Sam closed his eyes for a moment. “Is it all right if we talk about something else?”

With the dreams and hallucinations, he didn’t want to do more to conjure Jess’ image. At least that was what he told himself. Not that he felt strange talking about Jessica with Cassie, like he was somehow being disloyal.

Cassie nodded, “Of course. Um. Bryce, right? I’m sorry you saw his … rude side. He is crazy fun most of the time.”

“You’ll have to forgive me for noticing. It seems like you guys are really close. How do you know he’s not interested in you?” Sam reminded himself that he was inquiring on Dean’s behalf.

They weren’t her beans to spill, but it’s not like it was any great secret. “I’m not proud of this, but I kind of threw myself at him that first time we hung out. He looked right at me and said something to the effect of ‘You’re a great girl, Cass, and I would totally go for you if only I was straight.’”

Sam’s eyes widened just for an instant, “Oh. So, I guess Dean doesn't have anything to worry about, then.”

She smiled down at her mug. “Not a thing.”


	8. Chapter 8

Bryce waved a huge, black feather through the smoke rising from the cast iron bowl between his bare legs. Only a bone and some leaves were still discernible among the ash. He added a long, curly lock of black hair. Then, he smeared the cinders down one side of his face and the other. Finally, he puckered his lips and blew the remaining residue into the air.

***

The Impala was a great car, but a hell of an uncomfortable place to sleep. All Dean wanted in the world was to lay down next to Cassie, wrap his arms around her, listen to her talk about her boring ass day. 

After the first outburst, Dean had resolved not to go back into that apartment. He couldn’t bring himself to even face her until he could be sure it wouldn’t happen again, even if it meant going to a fucking shrink, which is what he was starting to think was necessary. 

Without giving away anything, he had gone so far as to call her mother and ask about past boyfriends. For obvious reasons, Mrs. Robinson had sounded concerned when he asked if there was any domestic abuse in Cassie’s history. Her answer had been just what he’d expected. “No. No way. Cassie would never let any man treat her that way.”

He’d asked a few more questions to try and discover whether there was a past lover who might hex her or a deceased love who might haunt her—following up on his suspicions from back then. He’d even whispered “Christo” to himself and felt like an idiot, because, of course, he wasn’t possessed. He would fucking know if he was possessed. 

If there was something paranormal going on, it left no traces, no echoes or fingerprints for him to follow. The only thing that seemed touched at all was Dean, himself. He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he was losing his fucking mind where Cassie was concerned.

Dean twisted and turned in the back seat and tried to pull the scratchy army blanket over himself in a way that would keep him warm and keep the light from the streetlamp out of his eyes. As soon as it was over his sock feet, it was off his face. When he yanked it back over his head, his feet were uncovered and frigging cold. Finally, he covered his feet and threw his jacketed arm over his eyeballs with a sigh.

His hard earned moment of peace was broken by a loud thump. Thinking a branch had fallen on his car, his eyes popped open. As he sat up, another thud was closely followed by another one on the roof. “What the fuck?”

Dean pulled a handgun from under the seat and wiped the condensation down the window to look directly into the huge, brown eyes of a deer. His heart lurched in his chest as he shouted and scuttled until his back was pressed against the middle of the seat. He panted loudly, composing himself. He was actually better prepared to deal with something evil. This was wildlife. “All right, Bambi.”

Finally, he opened the driver’s side door and yelled, waving his arms frantically, “Shoo. Get out of here. Scat.”

The deer regarded him once before scampering off. Satisfied with his animal wrangling skills, Dean looked up and let his mouth fall open.

He was surrounded by raccoons, foxes, opossums and every other type of fucking wild animal he could imagine. There were even a few creatures that he couldn’t identify. They were on, then, scrabbling around inside of his car: a wriggling mass of fur and claws clamoring over each other. 

He kicked some kind of weasel thing that was scraping at his leg. He aimed his gun into the backseat. “Out. Out now, or else. I’m sorry, Baby.” He squeezed the trigger and animal blood splattered on the upholstery and the windows. 

He swore and turned to target the other animals as they ran away.

“That’s right, you fuckers.” He bellowed once more like a triumphant and half-crazed, heavily armed Neanderthal. 

 

***

‘Every new day carries its own legacy.’ It was the word of encouragement of the day on Cassie’s desktop calendar. 

Invigorated, but running late, she poured her tea into a travel mug and took along a toasted bagel wrapped in a paper towel. Her phone rang while she was on her way to the door. She squeezed it between her ear and shoulder, grabbed her briefcase and flew out of the apartment. She opted to take the stairs rather than waiting for the elevator, which tended to be slow.

Bryce’s voice sang in her ear, “Morning, Sunshine.”

“Morning.”

“What are you wearing?”

She looked down at her own pants suit and straightened her jacket. “The grey one.”

“Good. You kill in that. Call me right after.”

She hung up the phone and slipped it into the back pocket of the briefcase beside her meager breakfast. Out of the front door and halfway to her car, she was surprised to find Sam in workout gear, stretching. “Hey.”

Dean had a naturally nice body: neither skinny nor bulky. Just right. Sam was totally built in a way Cassie hadn’t noticed before. Now, she couldn’t help but be aware, finding him in sweats and a simple grey T-shirt, instead of all the layers of clothes that he and his brother favored. She diverted her eyes, pretending to watch the traffic. “You coming or going?”

“Just got back.” Sam lifted his left foot to his glutes. He would rather have not noticed the way Cassie was failing at not looking at him. It made him want to flex like some kind of brainless muscle head and he wasn’t like that, usually. He just liked to keep fit: healthy body, happy body.

“You know, we have a gym… don’t know if you, you know… I can show you when I get back.” It was fully obvious that Sam put a lot of effort into looking the way he did. 

“Oh, yeah. That’d be great.” Since they had arrived in St. Louis, Sam had been suffering an acute case of cabin fever and various other forms of restlessness. He was grateful for any opportunity to work off some steam. “Oh, and I went past the library… they were having a sale… thought this might help start to shed some light on what we do.” Sam picked up and handed her the book he had put on the ground to do his stretching.

Cassie ran her palm over the slightly tattered, black, leather-bound book. There was a silver pentagram embossed on the cover. She looked up at him, “Thank you, Sam. Any word from Dean?”

“Um, not yet.” Now, he was lying for his brother. This was getting out of hand.

“Is this normal, for him?” Her brow was furrowed with worry.

Sam shook his head and gave the best answer he could without giving away too much. “Dean’s not normal. You should know that.” 

She smiled and nodded. “Well, I’m ... right on time, so…”

“You’ll knock ‘em out.” 

She waved. “Thanks.”

Sam watched her drive off, trying to ignore that sassy, little bounce to her step. Once he was sure she was gone, he strode a couple of blocks, straight to the Impala and knocked hard on the window. 

Dean sat up with one eye barely open, unable to crack the other. He grimaced against the sunlight, but rolled down the window. “She gone?”

Sam was doing his best to contain his temper, but this was too much. His nostrils flared. “What are you doing? We’re here for you. So you and Cassie can…” He threw his hand up, not even sure what he had expected his brother to do: certainly not camp out in the car and leave Sam alone with her.

“Is she gone or what, Sam?”

“Did you guys have a fight? This is not how you deal with that, man.” Sam knew Dean had pretty much zero relationship experience, but hiding out was pitiful. And it was creating other problems. 

Dean slammed the door to the car and started hauling his tired ass back towards Cassie’s building. After firing off the gunshots, he’d driven off and found a Walmart parking lot where he could clean out his poor, blood splattered baby. 

Sam stood his ground. “Look, I can’t do this anymore.”

“What?” Dean turned to glare at his bratty kid brother who was, once again, making everything about himself.

“I can’t stay here. I’m leaving. Soon. Like tomorrow, maybe.” What Sam thought, but didn’t say was: I’m attracted to your girlfriend. Not a little bit. Like, a lot and it’s not cool.

“All right.” Dean scrubbed at the stubble on his face. He had never given up on a case in his life without a direct order from his dad. But this wasn’t a case. It was … he had no business with Cassie anyway. Maybe this whole thing was just his own fucked up way of telling himself that.

‘What about the animals? That couldn’t be nothing.’ He shoved the question down and repeated, “All right.”

“All right, what?”

“All right. We’re done here.” Dean nodded, feeling more relieved the more he thought about leaving. 

Cassie fucked with his head. It wasn’t intentional, but being with her was too difficult. It clouded his judgment and made him do things he didn’t mean to do. He needed to get away from her and Sam was giving him an out. 

“No, Dean. That’s not what I mean. I mean, I’ll go, on my own. Maybe back west. We can meet when something comes up.”

Dean shook his head. “You go, I go.”

“Dean.” Sam should have seen that reaction coming. His brother was not cut out for a relationship and it was probably for the best that they leave before things got out of hand. “All right. Tomorrow. But don’t sleep in the car tonight. Say a proper goodbye.”


	9. Chapter 9

Bryce’s chants were so vigorous that a fine sweat broke out over his naked body. He grimaced, as if in pain, rocking back and forth as he slowly drained the blood from a snake into a bowl. 

*

In the middle of the night, Sam sat bolt upright where he had been sleeping on the floor: hair plastered to his head, t-shirt stuck to the sweat on his chest. He gasped for air and tossed off the blanket. 

Across the hall, he could hear Cassie’s garbled shouts, rhythmically intermingled with Dean’s grunts. Heat spread across his chest and into his groin. He stared at the door and mouthed the word, “Fuck.”

*

Shortly before dawn, Cassie stumbled from her bedroom. Sam was already seated at the kitchen table. She pulled her silk robe more tightly around her and crossed her arms over her chest. Feeling awkward for no apparent reason, he started to stand, but stayed seated. “Dean?”

“He’s still asleep.”

He nodded and found he couldn’t stop himself. His hands wrung together nervously. “I really need to talk to him.”

“Do you want me to wake him up?” There was none of the usual kindness in her voice.

Sam chalked it up to the early hour. “Uh … no.” He lied. 

Cassie made her way across the room and tried to sound indifferent, “So, you guys are hitting the road today?”

“Um…” He huffed a fake laugh. “Did Dean say that?”

“Yeah. Said your father called.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Sam was still nodding and feeling like a bigger moron by the moment.

Without another word, Cassie vanished into the bathroom. She didn't know what was with these boys and their father and she was determined not to care.

Sam had been up for hours. He couldn't wait anymore. He charged into Cassie’s room; the air was thick with the smell of sex. Warmth washed over him, followed by a pang of jealousy. He ignored it and shook his brother by the shoulders until Dean’s face crunched up in annoyance. His eyes reluctantly started to flutter open. “What?”

“Did Dad really call?” If he had, his timing couldn’t be worse.

“What?” Dean’s morning muddled brain tried to make sense of his brother’s words.

“Cassie said…”

Finally, Dean leaned up on his elbows. “No. I had to tell her something.”

Sam sighed, relieved that they didn't have to deal with their father at the moment. “We need to talk.”

“OK.” Dean dropped himself back down with his eyes closed, committed to continue sleeping while his dorky little brother talked. 

Sam ripped the blanket off and turned his head away, not needing an eyeful of his brother’s morning wood. “Dean. Get up. Now.”

“Aw, fuck.” Very slowly, not unlike a zombie, Dean sat up and pulled on his clothes while Sam paced as if he was trying to wear a path in the carpet. 

When Dean headed for the bathroom where the shower was running, Sam stood in his way. “No. Now.”

Dean gestured to the door. “I got to piss.”

“No time.”

Dean grumbled. “No time to piss?”

“No. Let’s go.” Sam grabbed the keys to the apartment that Cassie had loaned him and corralled his brother down the steps. Once they were outside, he prodded his groggy brother into the park across the street.

Before they had gotten very far, Dean stopped and relieved himself against a tree. Once his pants were closed again, he looked at Sam with slowly blinking eyes, “All right. I’m all ears, you nutcase.” 

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to say it.”

“Spit it out.” Dean sniffed, sleepily.

“We can’t leave. I mean, I could. But you can’t.” He paced, nervously.

“Sam, fucking be still and tell me what’s going on.” He scratched his ear and yawned.

Sam had no idea how his brother would take his revelation. He searched the park for a good segue: a woman jogged by, a group of men were playing soccer. There were herds of kids at a playground. Sam pretended to watch them when actually his attention was solely focused on Dean. 

Dean looked at Sam impatiently, then did an about face, walking back toward the apartment. “Dude, I need coffee.”

A Frisbee nearly took Dean’s head off. Reflexes sharp, even half asleep, he ducked. Then, he picked it up and searched the clearing for its owner.

It couldn't have been more perfect if Sam had cast the moment himself. A little boy ran over to retrieve it. He apologized and thanked Dean sweetly before returning to his game with his dad. By the time Dean was standing upright again, he was wearing an almost smitten expression. 

Sam smiled at the cosmic nod. He had the kid pegged at about four or five, but he had absolutely nothing to go on. He liked kids, but had practically no experience with them outside of having rescued more than a few from their worst nightmares. He had met a few of Jess’ little cousins, tossed a ball around with them, but was far from an expert. 

Dean, on the other hand, he’d seen with kids and knew that despite all odds, he had a natural rapport with them. Maybe it was because he was just a big kid himself. Sam had a sense that his brother would either be the same kind of shitty, militaristic, authoritarian father theirs had been or the kind of dad Sam himself wished he’d had. Enough stalling, Sam dived in. “Ever thought of having them?”

“Not really.” Dean lied. Sam was trying to psycho-analyze him again and at six in the morning. So, he threw him back a curve ball. “I like practicing.” 

His tactic backfired. The thought of sex just made him think of leaving Cassie. His mood soured almost instantly and he added, “Seems like it would be a good idea to get rid of the boogeyman before bringing more kids into the world.”

Sam knew full well that Dean was deflecting, because it would be too frigging difficult to just have a real discussion. Fine. Dean, could be like that all he wanted. Sam would just have to show him that it wasn’t hard to talk about something seriously for a change. “Jess and I used to talk about it. She wanted eight.”

“Sheesh.” Now, that sounded like a nightmare to Dean.

“Yeah. I had talked her down to five.” Sam smiled, then frowned. Thinking of Jessica usually had that effect on him. 

Dean could sense his brother starting to tense. He couldn’t really imagine how much that must have sucked, to see her up on the roof like that, unable to do a goddam thing to save her. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want Sam to think about it. Fine. He’d talk about his fucking feelings. Sort of. “Cassie’s a career girl, you know. Plans to do foreign correspondence, maybe war journalism, that kind of thing and work her way up to the White House press corp.”

“Yeah, that sounds like her.” Sam felt a strange sense of pride, as if Cassie were already his sister in law. Or something.

“What it doesn't really sound like is a family of five.” Dean and Cassie had strategically avoided any real talk of the future. Considering their past, it was a miracle that they even had a present. 

But it wasn’t like it hadn’t gone through Dean’s head. Back then and now. They’d had a real nice time last night, for a change. But Dean knew he had no business thinking about or acting like he and Cassie had a chance. He didn’t even trust himself to be alone with her without Sam in the next room to keep him from harming her. 

“You never know. Jess also planned on being on the Supreme Court by 50, so…” He huffed a bitter laugh. “I have no doubt, she would have found a way to do it all.”

While they had been talking, the father of the young boy approached, “He wants to know if you guys want to play?”

Sam raised his eyebrows at his brother. Dean shook his head at the guy. “Nah, we’re cool.”

Dean had no doubt that Cassie would accomplish anything she set her mind to, with or without him. He had just wanted to stick around until he could be sure that she had her mind set on … what? Waiting for him? Waiting for him to do what? It’s not like his job was ever going to be over. There would always be evil shit to deal with, right? So, what was the point? 

What did Sam want him to do? It was Sam’s brilliant fucking idea to come back and ‘get some closure.’ How do you get closure on walking away from something you want so fucking badly?

Sam hated to interrupt Dean’s reverie, but he had to tell his brother what he knew before his head burst with the information. “Dean. Are you happy? With Cassie.”

Dean smirked, “I haven't been laid this much since … last time I was with Cassie, so, yeah. How could I not be happy? But all good things must end.” He shrugged like he couldn’t possibly care less. He was so practiced at it that he almost convinced himself, sometimes. 

Sam ignored Dean’s non-answer and began working up to the point. “You’re not using protection, are you?”

Dean flinched, “Seriously, Dad?”

“Seriously.”

Dean smirked. “Well, we were, but then we ran out, so … I’m clean. She’s clean.”

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother’s ignorant answer. “Condoms are not just protection against STDs, Dean.”

“She’s a modern woman. I assume she's on the pill.”

He could honestly brain Dean sometimes. “You assume? Kind of an important thing not to be sure about.”

“Jesus, Sam. She doesn’t want to get knocked up any more than I … What is your deal?” It dawned on Dean that they had been talking about kids for Sam’s entire talk.

“What do you think Cassie would do if she got pregnant? You think she'd keep it?” Sam was coming around the home stretch. 

“Are we seriously having this conversation? You're like a high school counselor. One of the creepy ones who tries to touch your leg.”

Sam made a face to show just how disturbing that image was.

“What? That never happened to you?” Dean shrugged. “Wait. Why? Did she say something? Sam.”

Sam didn’t answer. He knew that Dean didn’t put any stock in his dreams. Dean joked about them and played it off, because deep down he didn’t take the premonitions seriously. Ever since what had happened to Jess, Sam had been afraid to sleep, afraid to dream. The more real his dreams felt, the more certain he was that they would become reality, sooner or later.

This was the first time one of these lucid dreams had been about something pleasant, kind of. Pleasant, if Dean and Cassie wanted a kid. Cassie had looked totally blissful pushing the tan-skinned, green-eyed, golden haired child on a swing. Dean had been nowhere to be seen. Maybe it wasn’t even his kid. Maybe Sam was misinterpreting the dream.

But those eyes. The shape and the color were too familiar. Sam was sure. “Would you want her to keep it?”

It finally dawned on Dean what Sam was saying. “Shit. Holy shit.” 

He practically dropped his body onto a bench. He stared ahead, breathing shallowly with his mouth open. “Holy shit.” 

He glanced up at Sam. “Fuck.” 

Then, Dean rose from the bench and took off running towards the apartment building. 

~

Cassie was sitting on the sofa next to Bryce. Dean didn’t even bother to close the door behind him. Her friend’s face fell. Her mouth opened in surprise. “Thought you were gone.”

Out of breath, he walked over, fell on his knees and took her face in both hands. “No. No. Never.”

He kissed her long and languid until she pulled back and inhaled sharply, “Okay.”

Ignoring Bryce’s irate glare, Dean began to wind his silver ring from his finger. “I have been such an asshole. I don’t mean to be, I swear. It’s just … Whatever it is, I will fix it.” 

Cassie shook her head to try to clear it. “OK. You’re giving me whiplash, Dean.” 

“I am never going to leave you again. I swear.”

He grabbed her hand in his and tried to put his silver ring on her ring finger, pointer, middle finger. It fit snugly on her thumb. He kissed the palm of her hand and nestled his face against it. His eyes squeezed tight against the tears welling up in his throat. Finally, he buried his face against her stomach with his arms tightly around her waist. 

Dumbfounded, she looked up at Bryce and Sam, who had just stepped into the open door. For lack of a better idea, she ran her hand soothingly over Dean’s hair and tried to convince him to stand.


	10. Chapter 10

The place was aptly named Through the Looking Glass. To Sam, it felt more like being in a spaceship than a night club. It was wall-to-wall mirrors. Every surface that wasn't reflective was made of metal or translucent glass. 

At the moment, he was peering down through the bar into an aquarium teeming with brightly colored fish. His reflection stared back from the walls and ceilings. Even when he had tried to retreat to the bathroom for a moment’s peace from the mind-numbing, incessant bass and unabashed stares from other patrons, he was surrounded by mirrors and ogling eyes.

He had quickly abandoned the restroom again, as eyes had raked over him even more so in there than at the bar. Sam was comfortable in most company, but this place was a little intense. He was never at ease as the center of attention and had never been the object of so much hungry leering in his life. If someone was trying to psychologically torture him, this would be a good way to begin.

Somehow, Dean managed to look like he was in the driver’s seat of the Impala, totally calm and in control despite the fact that he was apparently even higher up on the menu. The words, “No, thanks.” had fallen from his brother’s mouth more than a dozen times since they had arrived less than an hour ago. Dean didn’t even bother to make eye contact with the guys who approached him. A few of them had whispered something in his ear. What, Sam could only imagine, considering the lewd suggestions he’d received.

Cassie was one of two women in the place. She was wearing severe, dark makeup that accentuated her sensuous features. Her hair was straightened and pulled up out of her face. Her lithe frame appeared to have been poured into the shiny, black tube dress. There may not have been many men in the bar who could appreciate just how amazing she looked. Sam, for one, noticed. He made a point not to look directly at her when he shouted over the techno music that was so loud he could feel it pounding in his teeth. “This is peace?” 

Cassie leaned in close enough that she could speak normally. “It’s Bryce’s version of peace.”

A shiver coursed down Sam’s spine at the sensation of her warm breath on his ear. Two men next to him at the bar leaned into a sultry kiss, their tongues wrangling in the open air between them. Sam promptly turned away to keep himself from staring. It wasn’t safe to let his eyes land anywhere, so he looked back down at the fish. 

“You should have a drink.” Cassie stifled a laugh at Sam’s adorable nervousness and flagged the bartender. “Inviting you two here was a pretty huge olive branch, considering the start those two got off to.”

On Cassie’s other side, Bryce spoke close to Dean’s ear. “Let’s dance.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna pass on that.” Dean downed the last of his drink and subdued his urge to break the guy’s irritatingly pretty face. It looked like he was wearing eye makeup, but from this close, Dean could tell that he just had crazy thick eyelashes. Not like Dean gave a shit. 

“Come on. Guys might stop hitting on you if they think you’re taken.” Bryce nudged him.

Dean glared at Cassie who smiled and waved him off to the dance floor. The only reason Dean had gone along with this was that he knew that it was important to her that he get along with her friend. 

Bryce reached for his hand, but Dean quickly yanked it away. There was only so far he was going with this. Holding Bryce’s hand was way the fuck too far. Dean steered clear of him and stared, wide-eyed at Sam who only shrugged and yelled, “Go with it.”

Yeah. Easy for him to say. Little prick. 

“You’re next, Stretch.” Bryce swerved backwards and gestured to Sam with both pointer fingers.

Sam swiveled on his glass stool and gripped his drink. “Okay. I am officially terrified.”

“Just relax.” Cassie laughed and cupped her hands to her mouth to hoot as Bryce twirled gracefully around a stiffly moving Dean. The older Winchester cursed between his teeth. Another guy eased up and started grinding his ass. Dean spun with his fists bared.

Sam laughed so hard, he spat his drink back into his glass.

*

Bryce’s movements were fluid and flawless: Latin and burlesque inspired, intended to be entrancing to anyone who might be interested. He could sense how very uneasy Dean was, despite his controlled demeanor. Bryce leaned forward and spoke loudly. “She really likes you.”

“She has good taste.” Dean did a tight two step and tried not to gawk at the gyrating male bodies around him, especially not at Bryce’s.

Bryce flowed his hands from the air above his head, down his own body and continued to dance. He turned his back so that Cassie and Sam could not see as his expression darkened. He glared coldly into Dean’s eyes. “She likes you. I don’t.”

*

Someone tapped on Sam’s shoulder. He turned to meet inviting eyes and smiled bashfully, “Um. No, thank you.”

The other guy glanced at Cassie. She shrugged an apology and nudged Sam, “You should dance.”

Sam had been itching to touch her. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so compelled to do something he knew he shouldn’t. His face in the mirror behind the bar was serene and cool; his face was a lie. His blood was boiling as he combatted with a desire to just stroke this woman’s face or run his fingers over her exposed shoulder. When her elbow playfully prodded his arm, he stopped fighting it and took her hand. “You’re right.”

Cassie resisted, “Oh no.”

“Come on, Fearless.” Sam smiled and pulled her to the dance floor with both hands. 

The crowd went wild as The Weather Girls’ “It’s Raining Men” started to play. Sam and Cassie danced freestyle, facing each other, laughing and most importantly to Cassie, maintaining a respectable distance between them. 

Sam had been telling the truth. He wasn’t a bad dancer at all. As big as he was, there was a natural grace and effortlessness about the way he moved. It was difficult not to try to watch his whole body. In fact, all of the guys around them who were doing just that.

When the song ended, Cassie applauded and started to make her way back to the bar. Spanish guitar quickly led into a salsa number. Sam reached low to wrap his arm around her waist and pulled her close against his body.

“Okay,” she caught her breath and relented.

By the time the song was over, Cassie’s hand rested on Sam’s chest. Her knees were a little weak. She still swayed, a bit dizzy from all the spinning and dipping. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Beneath her palm, she could feel Sam’s heart hammering, as well. She forced herself to ignore the smell of his sweat and cologne, the light pressure of his hand on the small of her back, the firm outline of his shaft against her stomach. She reminded herself that it was part of the male anatomy. And normal for it to feel huge; Sam was a big boy. 

She stepped away from him and tried not to appear too frantic as she searched the club for Dean and Bryce. “I think we should probably…”

“Wait. Cassie…” Sam held her hand, inexplicably unable to let her go just yet.

*

Bryce saw Sam pull her close again in the mirror and set his glass back on the bar, “You and I. We need to come to an understanding about Cassie.”

Dean lifted his chin, “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“You two are playing a dangerous game.”

Dean scoffed and started to walk away.

Bryce held a firm hand against his chest and bodily blocked his path. “Your relationship is toxic. It can’t be allowed to go on.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fact. And I think you already know it.”

*

Sam leaned down so he could speak into Cassie’s ear without yelling. “I wanted to tell you about Jessica.”

“Your girlfriend?”

He nodded and instinctively began to sway them, although much too gently considering the raucous music. “She … was murdered by the same thing that killed my mother. The kind of thing Dean and I hunt.”

She looked up at him, but didn’t speak. How was she supposed to respond to that? She could only barely understand it. ‘The kind of thing.’ That meant a ghost or something. Cassie had hoped her life would go back to normal after they had gotten rid of the spirit that had killed her father. It should have been obvious that with Dean and his family there was no chance at normal.

Cassie stopped dancing. “Why are you telling me this, Sam? Why now?”

“Because, it makes me wonder…” Someone bumped into him and apologized. He didn’t notice and it wouldn't have mattered, except that it forced their bodies even closer together. His eyes never wavered from hers. “It makes me wonder if anybody we get close to is ever safe.”

She considered what he said and slowly, a smile spread across her face, “What? Like Spiderman?”

Sam couldn’t help but match her smile and her growing laughter. “Exactly like that.” 

“Thanks for the warning, Sam.” Cassie was still smiling. 

Sam quickly sobered, realizing that she wasn’t taking him seriously, “I think my brother is trying to protect you from something.” It was the only explanation that made sense. Why else would Dean spend the night in the car, watching the building when he could be warm in bed with Cassie?

Finally, she registered the fear in Sam’s voice and asked, gravely. “What is it, then?”

“I don’t know. But you can believe that I …” He huffed awkwardly before correcting himself. “Dean … we both are not going to let anything happen to you.” He would be damned if another person they loved would be harmed by on his watch. He would die before he let that happen.

*

“How about this?” Bryce countered, “You leave now or I'll break you.”

Dean scoffed, “I’d love to see you try.” He casually helped himself to another drink.

Bryce moved close, invading Dean’s space. “I know exactly what you are, Dean Winchester. Can you say the same about me?” When he kissed Dean firmly on the lips, it wasn’t seductive. It was predatory. A show of dominance.

Dean roared and shoved him away. Bryce tapped the tip of one finger on the bar. In that instant, the club went dark and the music ground to a halt. Everyone groaned. Instinctively, Sam tightened his arm protectively arm tight around Cassie. He reached for the hilt of his gun and began to barrel through the crowd toward the exit. 

The power came back up: music screeched on, the strobe lights flickered as garish as ever. People started dancing again like it had never happened. Cassie gently slipped away from Sam. He was still on guard, searching the club for any blatant source of danger. Cassie found Dean at the bar and made her way towards him.

Bryce winked at his bewildered prey, smiled and sucked suggestively at the end of his straw.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean unbuttoned his shirt and hurled it onto the foot of Cassie’s bed. “That guy is not coming to the wedding.”

He was putting it lightly, considering that there was already a silver bullet with Bryce’s mother fucking name engraved on it. Not to mention a whole fucking can of salt and a pack of matches that Dean would personally be watching burn Bryce’s bones to dust. Dean didn’t know what that asshole was, but Bryce’s days were fucking numbered. The fucking number was zero. He was going down tonight. The minute Cassie was asleep.

But he couldn’t very well tell Cassie that, especially in the likely case that she was questioned about her friend’s disappearance. Dean had to let her maintain plausible deniability. 

Cassie laughed, stepping out of her dress. “You’re not serious.”

Dean watched her, feeling a little guilty knowing that she was going to be losing her dad and best friend in the same month. He could only hope that gaining a husband and then, a child would balance it out. 

Wife and kid. 

Holy shit. 

The idea that he was going to have a family still freaked Dean out, but he was actually starting to get kind of excited about the whole thing, too. It wouldn’t be a big, fancy wedding. Who could afford that? He wondered if his father would tear himself away from whatever he was doing to be there. Even if not, even if John was pissed at first, once it was explained, his dad would have to understand. Family is family and Cassie was about to become his family. And their child… their child was blood. Nothing is more important than that. 

Dean stepped softly against her and pressed a kiss onto her shoulder. “We can go get the paperwork started tomorrow.”

“Dean.” She stepped back to look up at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious.” He tried to enclose her in his arms, but she evaded him. 

She shook her head, utterly confounded, “Where is this even coming from? Last night, you were packed to go. Now, you want to…” The laughter sounded as bitter as it tasted in her mouth. It wasn’t funny. It was insane. “I’m not going to marry you, Dean … Ever.”

Dean Winchester was not marriage material. He wasn’t even really mature enough to date seriously. He’d been unpredictable when they first met and was worse now. Staying with him was delaying the inevitable. All this absurd talk of marriage was making that abundantly clear.

Dean just pursed his lips and nodded, “You’ll change your mind.”

“I sincerely doubt it.” Her voice cracked.

Dean squeezed his eyes tight against the wave of anger washing over him.

Seeing how upset he was and hoping to avoid another outburst, Cassie touched his arm. There was no reason for this to become an issue. Their relationship was what it was. Marvelous at times, but not forever.

*

Sam’s eyes popped open. 

“Jesus.” He panted for air, swiped a sweaty palm down his face and leapt to his feet. 

*

With neck breaking speed, Dean grabbed Cassie’s wrist. He swung and slammed her back against the mirror that hung from her closet door. The glass shattered just as Sam flung open the bedroom door. He stormed in, growling his brother’s name and raising his hand as if to push him away from Cassie. 

Only, he never made contact. Without touching Dean at all, somehow, his older brother flew back against the wall. 

Dean’s eyes flashed silver more quickly than Cassie could have seen, even if her eyes had been opened. But Sam noticed. He didn’t know what the fuck he was seeing. He also didn’t know what he had just done, but it didn’t matter. He could work all that out later. His only concern was shielding Cassie.

Dean glanced between his nosy fucking brother and this hateful bitch who kept rejecting him. He had seen them dancing together. Had seen Sam’s hand damn near gripping her ass. Had seen her gaze up into his eyes like some kind of lovestruck Disney princess. He would end them both. Dean took a step forward, grunting like a rabid animal.

“Dean.” Sam’s nostrils flared. He tilted his head in warning and took a fighting stance in front of where Cassie cowered on the ground with her knees pressed to her chest and hands covering her ears.

Dean blinked as a flicker of reason tugged at his mind. He shoved past Sam, brushing his shoulder roughly against his brother. 

Once he was sure Dean had left the apartment, Sam turned and lifted Cassie over the glass that surrounded her bare and bleeding feet.


	12. Chapter 12

Cassie hissed and bit into her lower lip to keep from crying out as Sam used the tweezers to pluck the last piece of glass from her back. The shard clinked along the metal sides of the bowl. He apologized for the pain as he began to apply iodine to her lacerated skin. She gripped the towel over her chest more firmly and squeezed her eyes shut, but did not cry out, even though it hurt like hell. 

“Cassie, I don't know if you're ready to hear this, but that wasn't my brother.”

Sam’s words rolled around and bounced off the already stressed walls of Cassie’s mind for a few minutes before she asked, “Who was it?”

“I don't know.” Sam answered honestly. He was still piecing together what he had seen in his dream with what had happened in real life. 

The dream had been an unbearably vivid vision of Dean hacking away at Cassie with an ax, while the golden haired, green eyed child watched. But what had been most chilling was that it didn’t feel like it was a premonition of the future. It had felt like it was happening now. That was what had caused him to skulk outside of their bedroom door until he heard the commotion inside. 

“Shapeshifter?” Cassie ventured, using the same word Dean had said.

Sam had flipped through the book he’d given her. It covered satanic ritual, exorcisms and witchcraft. There hadn't been anything about shifters. Cassie knew more than she had let on. 

Sensing Sam’s reticence, Cassie explained, “Dean told me you guys dealt with one here, not long ago. Could it be that?”

She seemed shaken up, but stable. Rational. Fearless. It made Sam strangely proud. “Well, it couldn't be that one, but maybe a relative.”

“And it…" She covered her mouth, “How do I know when I was with Dean and when it was that thing?”

“You can't worry about that.” He tried to reassure her, but the question made him wonder whether the attacker in his dream was his brother or the shifter. It also raised the question of whether the kid was really Dean’s. This was getting more complicated by the second. “We're going to find it. You stay here. Don't leave. Don't do anything until I get back. Okay?”

Cassie was on the verge of defying his orders for the sake of asserting her independence and nodded instead. As he stood up to leave, she called out, “Sam.”

He stopped, “Yeah.”

“How will I know it's you?”

It was a good question. Her mind was incredibly clear. Even he and Dean hadn’t thought of that the first time they’d dealt with the shifter. But it wasn’t an easy thing to tell either. The last one had assumed Dean’s persona. It even had access to his memories. It was downright terrifying how much like his brother it had been. Finally, something occurred to him. “Your phone.”

“Call you?” Cassie frowned, unimpressed by the suggestion.

“No. Make me look through your phone. If my eyes are weird in any way, it's not me. If I refuse, it's not me. Same thing applies to Dean.”

Once again, she steeled her nerves, took a deep breath and nodded.

Sam gave a weak smile and caressed her hair for just a second. “It's going to be okay.”

He stepped from the apartment armed with a gun and a knife. The first order of business was to find his brother. Then, find whatever was impersonating him and kill it. 

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean answered on the second ring. He sounded winded, but not terribly upset.

“Where the hell are you?” Sam growled. 

“Calling on a neighbor.” 

He could hear the smile in his brother’s voice.

 

***

Entering the dark apartment, Sam held his gun in one hand, flashlight in the other and followed the sounds of grunts and blows. He bowed to take a closer look at a large stick in a terrarium. All of a sudden, it became a snake and struck at the glass. Sam jumped back with a shout. From the other room, Dean called, “Sam?”

Catching his breath, but heart still pounding, Sam replied, “Yeah.”

He stepped cautiously into a dim bedroom where Dean was standing over someone. All Sam could see were a man’s bare legs. His brother groaned with the effort of throwing another punch and then, grinned up at his younger brother. Dean stepped back, revealing a bound, naked and bleeding version of himself sitting on the floor. Sam fumbled to keep from dropping his flashlight.

“Hey. Welcome, Sammy. Me and Bryce are having the most interesting talk.” A crowbar hung loosely from the standing Dean’s left hand.

Sam froze, wide-eyed and caught completely off guard. He gawked for a moment, erratically swinging his gun between the two Deans, entirely unsure of what to do. Keeping the gun trained on the most threatening Dean, he fumbled in his pocket for his cellphone as the standing Dean made an annoyed face. 

The Dean on the floor looked up at him through bloody, half-lidded eyes and smirked. “Crowbar. I know. Kinky, right?”

“Dean?” Sam peered through the phone at both of them. The standing Dean’s eyes were normal, but then, so were the eyes of the bloody Dean on the floor.

“What? What is your problem? It’s me allright. Get that thing out of my face.” Standing-Dean, Dressed-Dean, Pissed and Characteristically Insolent-Dean rolled his eyes and swatted at Sam’s phone, “Come on, man. Get it together.” He smacked the back of his little brother’s head. 

Still, the younger brother stammered, struggling to make sense of what he was seeing. “Uh. Sorry, he… you don't see that?”

“See what?” Dean looked down at his handiwork. With his face all swollen and busted, this fucker wasn’t looking so pretty anymore and that was enough to put a little grin on Dean’s face. 

Sam, however, was still frowning between them. “He looks … It’s you. You don’t see that?” 

Standing-Dean obviously wasn’t seeing what Sam was seeing. That was not comforting.

“Say something.” Sam spoke to the bloodied Dean on the floor.

Bryce smirked as his voice and face instantly morphed from Dean’s into Jessica’s. “What should I say, Baby?”

“Oh God.” Sam stumbled back and stumbled over the foot of the bed. He couldn’t get far enough fast enough.

To Dean, that was a pretty big overreaction for being called Baby, even by this creep. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He asked without turning to check on his clumsy oaf of a brother.

Sam groaned, unable to take his eyes off his beautiful, long dead girlfriend whose grinning face was bloodied and beaten.

Jess pressed her busted lips together. Her cheeks puffed up and she broke into gut busting laughter before turning back into Bryce. "You two are fucking hilarious. What a pair of stooges.”

“What is it?” Sam barely breathed the question, still staring with unblinking eyes.

A shapeshifter, at least the kind they had encountered, was much slower and much messier than this. 

Dean shook his head. “I don't know. Some kind of evil bastard. He made me… Made me hurt her. Made me think I was fucking insane.”

“Wait. That was you?” Sam’s mouth fell open.

“It was my hands. But I never, never would have done that to her in my right mind. You know that. I just … couldn’t fucking control myself.” Dean backhanded the creature on the floor and jabbed its ankle with the sharp tip of the crowbar. The thing howled, giving Dean a bit of satisfaction. He was determined to make it suffer. “It started back then. It was why I told her about what we do. I had a feeling I was possessed or something. It’s why I didn’t try harder to make things work.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Sam could hardly believe his brother’s stubbornness sometimes. It was like he refused to let anyone help him. “This is like with that ghost doctor in Illinois, driving people mad.”

Dean remembered, but didn’t like to think of how his brother had pulled the trigger in his face, not once but twice. Sam had been given some kind of temporary lobotomy by a mad, aggressive spirit and it wasn’t his fault, even if the reasons he had given sounded like they were straight out of Sam’s playbook. “Yeah. A lot like that.”

“But this guy… “ Sam gestured to the bloody mess of a man whimpering on the floor, “He’s no ghost.”

“No.”

“And, it’s obviously not a shifter. Not your run of the mill variety anyway. I’m thinking his game is hallucinatory. So, that means what? Mind control?” Sam ventured his best guess.

Bryce’s whining became quiet chuckles as they talked. Dean gave him another fist to the jaw. “You like that, motherfucker?” 

“Love it.” Bryce smiled up at him with heat behind his swollen eyes.

“You’ve done the whole silver and holy water thing?”

Dean sucked his teeth, impatiently, “Come on, Sam. What kind of amateur do you think I am? Not everything responds to that shit and you know it. Look on his chest.”

Sam crouched to investigate a tattoo over Bryce’s pec that was partly obscured by blood. “It’s a heart, Dean.”

“The other one. Lower.”

Once again, Sam scrutinized Bryce’s smoothly chiseled and blood splattered body until he found a brand on the man’s hip. “Why is he naked?”

“He was like that when I got in here. What, you think I frigging stripped him?” Dean barked back. “That symbol. You recognize it?” 

Sam squinted. “Looks like some kind of bird.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Hey, Stretch.” Bryce grinned with his head rested back against the wall.

Straightening up and facing his brother, Sam asked, “Dean, did you try talking to him?”

“No, Sam. I did not, because my methods are better.”

“They’re obviously not very effective.”

Dean shrugged. “It depends on what you’re trying to accomplish. I, personally, feel a lot better. Now, check this out.” Dean disappeared into the closet and pushed on a side wall. A wave of heat sweltered into the room as the wall moved.

Following close behind him, Sam had to duck to enter a large room with three rows of tables where dark green plants with burgundy shoots resembling peacock feathers grew under artificial light. A dehumidifier hummed loudly. “How the hell did you find this?’

“It’s where he was when I came in.”

As they slowly investigated the place, Sam was struck with one nagging question. “ Okay, so is the guy human or not?”

Dean rolled his eyes, hardly in the mood to shoot the shit with Captain Obvious.

“But what is his MO? Why would he be trying to sabotage your relationship with Cassie?” Now that they knew Bryce wasn’t interested in being with Cassie himself, it just didn’t make any sense.

“I don’t fucking know, Sam. How about crazy? How’s that for a motive? I have no idea. I don’t even care. This shit is over. We take him out tonight.” 

It just didn’t add up. Sam shook his head. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.” Dean spat out.

“But what if you are? This guy is Cassie’s best friend. You really think this is wise?”

“She has no idea what she’s dealing with. Do you know what kind of plant this is or not?” Dean poked at it with the tip of his crowbar.

Sam rubbed one of the leaves between his fingers and sniffed it. 

“Jesus, Sam. Don’t touch it!”

Sam frowned trying to place the familiar odor. “I’ve smelled this before.”

“It ain’t wacky weed.” Dean joked and poked in the dirt with the tip of his crowbar.

“Hey, Dean. Have a look at this.” Sam had hit the jackpot. In the corner of the room, various symbols, similar to Bryce’s tattoo were drawn on the floor and the wall around an altar. All sorts of specimens, including hair and bones and a shriveled eyeball were strewn about. 

First, Sam picked up a lock of hair to examine it.

“Dude, stop touching stuff.” Dean warned, anxiously.

“Cassie’s.”

Dean snatched the lock from him and nodded his confirmation. “That sick fuck.”

“And this…” Sam picked up specimens of his own hair and Dean’s before he swiped a finger around the lip of the mortar and pestle and frowned at the powdery residue on his fingertips. “This is her tea.”

“ I need you to find out what he is and what the fuck this shit is.” Dean jabbed one of the leaves into Sam’s chest. “And question Cassie.”

“You think she knows?” The idea threw Sam for a loop, but they had to rule out everything.

“No way. But she might give us something useful.”

“And you?” Sam followed Dean through the closet back into the bedroom.

“I'm going to stay here and keep playing piñata until this fuck opens up.” Dean grinned cruelly at Bryce. 

Sam nodded obediently and started towards the door. On second thought, he added, “Dean. Don't kill him. Not yet. What if it’s magic? We might need him alive to break the spell.”

Dean had already thought of that or else the fucker would already be ash. He nodded in agreement and kicked Bryce in the teeth. 

Sam knew Dean was doing as they were taught: beating the information out of the enemy. Still, he winced at the violence and turned away as Bryce defiantly spit out a mouthful of blood and smiled. As he reached for the door knob, Sam remembered something else that needed to be discussed, “About what happened back there…”

“Not now, Sam. I need you to find out what we’re dealing with here.” While that was true, Dean also did not want to talk about Sam’s Jedi moment or his own freak out or any of it. All he wanted was to break the frigging curse, dispatch with the evil asshole, get back to Cassie and somehow make it up to her.


	13. Chapter 13

Before he left, Sam rifled through the trash and the mail on the kitchen counter. None of the envelopes were addressed to Bryce. They were all for an Amir Park. He took a letter and headed back across the hall to Cassie’s place. 

A quick knock on her bedroom door went unanswered. So, he peeked in to find her prone on top of the sheets, asleep. Momentarily torn, he quietly stepped in, gingerly wiped her bangs off her face. Then, he left, noiselessly shutting the door behind him.

Hours later, his face was still glued to the screen of his laptop. He was poring over a website when he heard Cassie enter the living room. She rubbed both her eyes between the thumb and forefingers of one hand, failing, despite her best attempts to stifle a wide yawn.

Sam followed her with his eyes. “How you feeling?”

“Awesome.” She slumped down on the couch beside him, but with more than a foot between them. 

Sam couldn’t help but smile at her sarcastic reply. It was straight out of the Dean Winchester Book of One-Word Answers.

“How long have I been out?”

He shrugged, “Just a few hours.”

That didn’t surprise her. From the lack of light behind the window, she had figured it was only three or four in the morning. “Any word from Dean?” 

Sam shook his head, hating to lie, but knowing it would be worse to tell the truth.

“How can you be so calm?” She was expert at sounding braver than she felt, but that ability was wavering.

“He's okay. Dean can definitely take care of himself. You ever seen him fight?”

Other than the times he had lost it with her, she never had and never wanted to. Dean did give the impression of the kind of man who could more than hold his own against an adversary, though. He also seemed like the kind of guy who would start a bar brawl for kicks. It had made it awkward to introduce him to her mother and gave her a bit of comfort just now.

“He’s ferocious and I promise you, he’s fine.” Sam reassured her, disgusted with himself for being envious of her concern for Dean.

Cassie nodded and watched him do his research for a while before asking. “Sam. Why would someone do something like this? Pretend to be Dean and…"

“I don't know, Cassie. That's what I'm trying to figure out. Maybe you can help me.”

She sighed and slid close enough on the couch to look at the screen, but none of it made any sense. Sam was surveying images of the Rosetta stone.

“How well do you know Bryce?” He asked cautiously.

“What?” It just wasn’t a question she had expected, considering that they had just been talking about trying to find Dean. Then, she noticed the sketch of a stylized bird on a small piece of paper on the table beside Sam’s computer. “Is that Bryce’s tattoo?! Are you … oh my god, Sam. Are you two fucking?” She covered a sly smile with a hand.

“What? No.”

She raised her brow, doubtful and still amused. “That thing is in a fairly discreet location.”

“And I’m trying to find out what it means.”

Cassie shrugged, “It has something to do with his mother’s family. Like a crest or something. You should ask him. I’m sure he’d tell you.”

“I doubt it.” Sam picked up the piece of paper and studied the bird emblem that he had sketched from memory.

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. That tramp.” Cassie went to get her phone from the dining room table.

Sam tensed, watching her, but didn’t say a word.

“Wow. I honestly didn’t see that coming.” Usually, she was totally tickled to hear about Bryce’s conquests. Somehow, she wasn’t sure how she felt about him getting it on with Sam, but it was a relief to be focused on something other than this fiasco with Dean and god knows what.

Sam was used to being taken for gay, especially in his travels with Dean. And it was probably good for Cassie not to know the real reason for his searches, but he felt compelled to clear up the confusion. “Cassie.”

“I think it’s great. Although, you should know, as much as I love Bryce, he’s kind of a slut. I’m just saying. He has worse commitment issues than your brother. I guess that totally explains why he didn’t go home with some stranger last night.” She picked up the envelope Sam had pilfered from Bryce’s apartment. “Oh my god. You’re totally stalking him. You Winchesters are so weird.”

“Cassie.” Sam repeated more firmly.

“So, how was it?” She sat back down next to him with hands under chin, waiting for the gritty details. Curiosity and adoration of her old and new friend won over the twinge of jealousy. If she could have been a fly on the wall…

“Cassie.”

She held up a hand to stop him from speaking. “You’re right. I'll ask Bryce. He won’t hold back.” She stood to go to the kitchen, but just couldn’t drop this juicy bit of news. “So… do you think you guys'll…”

“Cassie. Bryce and I did not…”

“Tell me you didn’t find out his real name like that.” She pointed at the envelope on the table.

“What?” Sam’s head cocked slightly to the side.

“Bryce. His real name. Amir. He told you, right?”

Sam shook his head.

“That idiot. I’m the only one who calls him that. It’s stupid, really. Back in college, one of the first times we ever hung out, we watched this movie, Lady in the Water, Shyamalan. Really bad. It has Ron Howard's daughter in it and Bryce, my Bryce. Your Bryce. Amir said that he would go straight for her. After that I just kept calling him Bryce, because her name is Bryce Dallas Howard, you know. You probably had to be there… I’m making some tea. Do you want some?”

“No.” Shouting as he moved, Sam bounded across the room and knocked the tin out of her hand. The hunter green dust spilled all over the floor. 

Cassie backed away. Without turning her back to him, she let her hands search the counter for something to protect herself. She turned up a carving knife which she proceeded to stab at Sam. “Leave me alone, you freak. What did you do with Sam?”

Immediately, he put his hands up and stopped advancing.“No. No, Cassie. It's me. I just … That tea. It's not safe.”

“I've been drinking this stuff for years.” She sliced at the air between them for good measure. 

“I need you to stop drinking it until I find out what it is.”

She held the knife out in front of her. “How do I know it's you?”

With one hand still held high, Sam started to reach for his pants pocket, “Just going for my phone.”

He slid it across the counter to her. With one hand still wielding the knife toward him, she looked at him through the phone. Even after she saw that he looked normal, she didn’t lower her weapon. Sam couldn’t help thinking ‘smart girl.’

“I'm sorry.” His arm struck with serpentine speed as he easily removed the knife from her hands and spun her so she was facing away from him. He pulled her close with her arms pinned at her side to keep her from lashing out and hurting herself.

Cassie struggled valiantly, yelling and even trying to bite her attacker. “Let go of me, you asshole. Dean is going to kill you.”

“Cassie. Cassie. Please calm down. It’s me. I swear. I'm not going to hurt you. Please.” Finally, in frustration, Sam pressed his lips to her temple until she stilled.

Then, he let her go. A surge of heat thrilled through her as she stepped quickly away from him and softly murmured, “Sam would never…"

He blew out a heavy sigh and curled his fists tightly at his side. “No. I wouldn’t."


	14. Chapter 14

Sam knelt beside Bryce to rip the duct tape from the captive’s mouth. Bryce smiled widely, even with his bloody, cracked lips and despite the wide, red mark left by the tape. “Ah, the good cop.”

Slightly put off by Bryce’s easy manner, Sam stood again and look about the apartment. Sunlight seeped in stripes through the bamboo blinds. “Where’s Dean?”

Bryce chuckled, “I think I tired him out. Your brother has a hell of a right hook.” He clicked his jaw as if to prove it. 

“What can you tell me about the plant, Amir?”

“Oh, do go with Bryce. Cassie thinks it’s so funny.” He weighed the pros and cons of talking to Sam and decided to humor himself. “The plant is called the sacred Haktuk and it is extinct now that your brother has destroyed my crop.”

“What is it for?” Sam asked.

“Oh many, many things, Sam.”

“Poison?”

The prisoner smirked. “It can be used that way, but no.”

Finally, Sam showed his hand. “This is about the baby, right?”

Bryce’s face instantly fell from amusement to sober concentration as he leaned forward as much as his tethers would allow. “So, you know?” 

“You’re punishing my brother. Or Cassie. Or trying to keep them apart?” Sam tossed out all of his theories to see which one would stick.

“It’s not about punishment. It’s about preservation. For all of our sake, I’m going to end your brother’s line.” He spoke the last words through gritted teeth and settled back against the wall. “I don’t know if Cassie is pregnant yet. Maybe I’ve already stopped it. But if she is, I’ll be sure she’s rid of it.” 

“Is that what the plant is for? It’s abortive?”

Bryce shook his head, growing annoyed with Sam’s irrelevant questions. “I keep an eye on her. An eye through her, when necessary. That’s all. Anyone who samples my crop, I can see through. That includes you and your idiot brother.” Bryce closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Right now. I can see you seeing me. I look like shit.”

“Where is Dean?”

Bryce sucked his teeth in impatience, but after a roll of his neck and another calm inhalation he replied, “He’s eating a hamburger. Nice breakfast. … By the way, Sam, that hideous, little trinket you gave your brother. It’s about as powerful a talisman as I’ve ever seen.”

“Dean told you?” Sam asked, finding it unlikely those two had shared a meaningful conversation.  
“Oh no. I can feel you—your essence—coming off of it. You, Sam, have the most interesting energy I have ever felt. Light and dark. Pure and tainted.” Bryce swooned, nearly intoxicated on the vibration of Sam’s strange soul once he concentrated on it. “If you only realized what that talisman contains and how to use it … You could live forever or become nearly all powerful. All you would have to do is make the small sacrifice of extinguishing your brother. Your other half. I could teach you the spell, for a very small fee.”  
Sam was sure that Bryce was trying to throw him off center. “I don't know what you're talking about, but I do know what you are. That…” He gestured to the bird branded on Bryce’s hip. “…is a bennu bird, the official signet of the Bakenkhonsu, an ancient order of shamanistic magicians in service to the pharaohs of Egypt.”

“My mother’s clan has practiced this magic for millennia. The Bakenkha did not serve the Pharaohs or any other man. Their allegiance was to the gods. But very good, Sam. I’d clap. I really would.” Bryce shrugged, indicating that his hands were helplessly tied behind his back.

Sam recalled what he had read. “One of the early tasks of the Bakenkhonsu was to protect the pharaoh’s family from the poisoning of blood. They doled out punishment for relations that resulted in children of blended heritage. Egyptians and their Israelite or Nubian servants were not allowed to blend. You’re after Dean and Cassie because their baby will have mixed blood.”

Bryce regarded Sam with his dark eyes squinted tightly, “Seriously? That’s your theory? You’re kidding, right? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.” His chuckle became full on laughter. “The poisoning of blood was literal poisoning of blood. We protected the royalty from bad food, accidents, treachery. … Mixed blood? What is this, fucking Harry Potter? My father was Korean, you moron. I’m mixed. Cassie’s mixed. Everybody is mixed with something. I’m sure you and your brother’s blood is not nearly as ‘pure’ as you think it is. Sam.” Bryce sighed, “What’s inside of you is fascinating. But I am bored with what you pretend to be.”

By the time he finished his tirade, Bryce’s hands were in his lap. He was carefully straightening his crooked left pinky. “Can you believe your brother broke my finger? Brute.”

Realizing that his captive was free, Sam quickly raised the gun on him. “Be still.”

Bryce rolled his eyes, shook his head and started to stand. 

Sam fired his weapon. Bryce wrung his own ear with one pointer finger and grimaced at the noise from the gun. Chuckling, he showed Sam an unspent bullet before it fell to the floor with a small clink.

Stunned, Sam still held the gun on him, even though it was clearly useless. “You could have been free any time.”

Bryce laughed at Sam’s incredulity. “Of course. But we’ve both seen better tricks than that, haven’t we?”

“Why … Why would you let Dean …”

Bryce shrugged. “Curiosity.” With that, he brought his palms together, as if in prayer and vanished. 

 

***

 

“We have a problem. Call.” Sam flipped his phone shut and walked into Cassie’s apartment. 

As the door opened, she looked up from her cellphone. “Call me.” Once she had closed hers, she sighed and shook her head. Searching Sam’s eyes for good news and finding none, she reported. “Now, Bryce isn’t answering. This has gotten ridiculous. I’m calling the cops.” 

 

Before she could begin to dial, Sam had taken the phone from her hand and dropped it into the breast pocket of his shirt. He tried not to notice how hot Cassie looked, angrily staring at him with her hands on her slim hips.

“Um, excuse me. Who exactly do you think you are?”

It was as though they were both attached to the same thermostat. The more agitated she became, the warmer Sam felt. He could physically sense his temperature rising. Struggling to maintain his composure, he stood stock still while she continued to rave. “Sam, your way is not working. We have to do something now!”

“Dean is fine.” He barely mustered the words, as his breaths became shallow, flame licking between his ribs.

“Listen, I’m glad you have confidence in your brother. But I would feel a lot better if I knew he was alive. As it is right now, we don’t know where he is, what this thing is, why it’s doing this, what the hell is going on…” The steadily raising pitch and volume of Cassie’s voice stoked the heat until Sam began to fear that his entire body would combust. 

“Cassie. Calm down.” He pleaded, choking on the words. 

“How exactly do you expect me to do that, when you tell me that your own brother has turned into a shapeshifter? And now my best friend is god knows where…” She ran both of her hands through her hair.

Sam whimpered her name and gripped her shoulders. “Fuck.” He swore under his breath, trying to catch a breath as his entire nervous system ignited with electricity so intense, it physically hurt.

“Are you okay?” Never having heard Sam swear and finally aware of the excruciated look on his face, Cassie brought a cautious hand to his cheek. “Oh my god, you’re on fire.”

As she reached into Sam’s pocket for her phone, the desperation in his eyes melted into acute craving. Cassie pulled away and opened the phone. He grabbed her again, slathering her face with chaotic, open mouthed kisses. The device fell from her hands.

“Sam,” she gasped, voice clipped, hands pressed to his chest. 

He blinked, trying to clear his head. A muscle in his jaw clenched as he ground his teeth. If she had continued to resist, it wouldn't have mattered. He wasn’t really in control anymore. She didn’t fight, though. Cassie only breathed the word “please” as she clung to his shirt with both hands.

Sam was roasting alive. He burned, not with an ordinary desire, but with a consuming lust that made it impossible to open his pants fast enough. The seams of her underwear strained as he bunched her skirt up and out of the way. Helpless whines sounded in Sam’s throat, as he devoured Cassie’s mouth.

He lifted her from the floor. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist. The air went out of her lungs as he slammed her back against a wall for a moment, slurping greedily at her neck. Then, he carried her into her bedroom.

She always felt small with Dean and safe in his arms, despite their sordid history. Beneath Sam's body, Cassie became tiny, breakable. Each time he descended, his massive body threatened to crush her. His broad chest covered her face long enough for her to fear suffocation. Panicked, she clawed at him. Her shouts muffled in his musky shirt.

He leaned up on his elbows, gaped down at her, eyes glazed over and unfocused. His jaw set, nostrils flared, lust riding him harder even than he hammered Cassie.

She had never been handled so savagely. Sam, still fully clothed with his pants pulled just low enough to fuck, grunted and used her body like a rabid animal would. And he was just so big. Every sharp thrust thundered through her bones.

Relentless, Sam spared no kisses, no caresses, no tender words of encouragement as she took the most brutal fucking of her life.

Cassie's mouth hung open, eyes wide, face contorted in a blend of humiliation and ecstasy. Her breath came in short, labored bursts. Her fingers clutched his arms for precious life as she was shoved up the mattress with each ruthless plunge of his dick into her tender flesh.

The punishing rhythm increased. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, cruelly yanking her head back. His mouth clamped onto her neck and for a moment she feared he'd bite her. Mercifully, he only released low, tortured whines into her skin as his attack became erratic. Sam’s body rocked with shivers that made the bed quake. He let out a strangled cry and buried his face in the pillow beside Cassie, who could only tremble.

 

***

Dean entered the apartment slowly with his gun raised. Bryce was gone from his place and that fucker could be anywhere. What sounded like his brother and Cassie in distress made Dean move swiftly towards their voices. Still careful, in case of an imminent fight with a foe he didn’t yet understand, Dean pushed in the partially open door with his boot.

Before he even had a visual, the unmistakable warm-wet funk told him his concerns had been off. 

As his muscles and his mind began to unwind, Sam whispered an apology and kissed Cassie’s cheek. She turned away from him, face twisted as she wallowed in self-contempt. 

Suddenly aware of being watched, Sam rolled off of Cassie and grabbed his gun from the night stand. Cassie gripped the sheets around her chest and hung her head so that her disheveled hair fell over her face.

Sam stared up—and Dean, down into—the barrels of one another’s weapons. The older brother gawked, speechless. Sam stammered for an explanation. “Dean, I…”

Neither of them lowered their guns. Before either noticed, Bryce appeared beside Cassie. He whispered in her ear, wiped her hair from her face and muttered the word, “Now.”

Then, everything went dark.


	15. Chapter 15

“Fuck this place.” Dean shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted at the endless waves of sand that seemed to be cooking in the merciless sun. Sam wiped the back of his arm across his sweaty, furrowed brow. He shook his head and squinted down at a road map that was spread out over the hood of the Impala. 

The car was caked with dust. Both of their t-shirts clung damply to their skin. Dark, wet patches stained the armpits of their t-shirts, flannels and jackets long since abandoned into the backseat. Dean cursed loudly as a rattlesnake wound its way between his legs and disappeared into the brush. “Son of a…”

Again, Sam wiped his wet hair from his face, stealing furtive glances at his brother. As much as he had grown in these last few hours to hate the desert, he feared Dean’s silence even more. Oh, Dean had cursed and complained and issued futile threats at Bryce. 

There was only one issue that kept replaying itself on the inside of Sam’s mind. “Dean.”

The older man knew what his brother was itching to discuss and for the hundredth time, shut him down. “Nope … We got any more water back there?”

He settled for a beer from the cooler in the backseat and leaned against the hot car to drink it. Absentmindedly, Dean watched the toe of his boot nudge a little dirt from the rear driver’s tire. It took him a moment to figure out what was off and he began to pat his own chest. Then, his fingers actually delved into the collar of his shirt.

Sam watched his brother’s frantic search without speaking a word. He had long since noticed that the amulet was missing, but hadn’t mentioned it. Why rub salt into a festering gash?

When Dean finally accepted that his necklace was gone, he swung his fist in the air as if he could break Bryce’s nose from a thousand miles away. “Sonuvabitch!”

As he stormed further along the road, Dean cursed again and kicked an undeniably penis shaped cactus. The plant was complete with two testicular nubs at its base. He turned back to his brother, “It was so fucking funny the first time we saw it.” 

A phone rang and Dean reached into his back pocket to answer it.

Sam frowned. “I thought you didn’t have any reception either.”

“I don’t have any reception, Sam. It’s that asshole, Bryce.” Dean opened his phone.

A man’s voice on the other end droned, “Hello, Dean.”

“Fuck you.” Dean closed the phone and tossed it onto the car. The metallic thump was muted by the map.

Sam swiped it aside to continue his uncertain navigation. The phone rang again. He looked at Dean who pretended to be studying the map, as well. On the next ring, the elder brother threw the damn thing into the brush.

Sam stared at him. “Have you considered that maybe we can't find the highway because of him.”

“Yeah, I've fucking ‘considered’ it, Sam. Every time we pass that goddamn cactus cock, I ‘consider’ it.” Dean kicked a rock and went on cursing.

Sam sighed and tramped off into the brush to find the still ringing phone. He opened the flip screen and brought it to his ear. “Yeah.”

The voice in the phone answered, “I need to talk to your brother.”

“Just find out what he wants.” Sam tossed it under-handed to Dean, who barely managed a sloppy catch. 

Dean growled into the phone. “What?” 

Bryce sighed wearily and began to bargain. “I need your word that you'll help and leave.”

A sinister smile unfurled across Dean’s face. “You have my word that when we get back I’m going to end you, swiftly.”

“We don't have time for this. I need you to be reasonable, for Cassie's sake.”

Dean winced, “If you’ve hurt her…”

“She needs your help or I wouldn't have called. And I need your word. You help and you leave.”

Dean held the phone down and rubbed his mouth roughly with his free hand. “OK. Fine, but if she’s harmed in any way, I swear…”

Bryce cut him off. “I bind you to your word. The door is open. Come in.”

Dean shut the phone and paced for a moment, still pissed. Sam, after for an explanation, finally asked, “What did he say?”

When Dean turned to face his brother, they were no longer in the desert, but side by side on the front porch of a white house. It only took them a second to recognize that they were at Cassie’s parents’ home in Cape Girardeau, Missouri.


	16. Chapter 16

“What the fuck?” Dean drew his gun and carefully, reached for the door knob. Equally stunned, Sam followed suit.

The furniture was of a newer, modern style than the last time they had been there. The Persian rugs and plush antique couch had been traded in for hardwood floors and a beige, leather sofa. The light still barely shone through the windows like it had the last time they had been in this place. No furnishings on earth would make that tired, old house feel new.

A little girl of about four years sat on the living room floor coloring. Sam recognized her immediately as the child from his vision with Dean and Cassie. Both he and Dean lowered their pistols when she gazed up with huge, green eyes. Her round, olive face was framed by a thick mane of wavy, wheat colored hair. 

Across from her, an adolescent girl with darker skin and sleek black hair looked ready to cry or scream or both at the tall men who had burst into the room. She called out, “Mr. Park!”

Cassie stepped into the room, drying her hand on a dish towel. “Laurel, did I hear the…"

The rag fluttered to the floor, landing in a clump at her slippered feet.

Sam, very intentionally, dropped his eyes and looked only at the children. Dean approached with a smile and open arms. Dark eyes wide, like she was seeing a ghost, Cassie took a step back.

“Look, I know we … have stuff to work out.” He paused and looked her over for a moment unable to decide whether to focus on her cute, little pixie hair cut or the way her tits had doubled in size. The twins won handily. In fact, she had put on a good twenty lbs, in all the right places. Dean cocked his head to the side and stared with stunned admiration. “You look … great.”

"Seriously? Five years and you say hello to my chest first.” Cassie folded her arms, blocking the view.

Dean laughed uncomfortably, “What are you talking about, five…”

Bryce stepped into the room behind Cassie and hooked his arm around her waist. A smug smile spread beneath his thick, black mustache. “Ah, good. The boys are here. Who wants tea?”

~

Bryce took the seat at the head of the large, oak dining table while Cassie leaned against the open door frame watching the girls play. He called over his shoulder to her. “Would you sit down, honey? Laurel’s got her.”

He held out his hand to Cassie. She sighed, but eventually took a chair beside him, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Dean and Sam.

“Honey?” Dean growled, “So, what, exactly, the fuck is going on here?”

Bryce folded his hands neatly on the table in front of himself. “I don’t know what more you want me to explain. You were a threat. I neutralize threats.”

Dean scoffed. “Neutralized?! So, for what felt like a few hours, we’ve actually been wandering in the desert for the last five years?”

“If you’ll recall, you jackasses were on the verge of killing each other.” Bryce shrugged, already quite bored with this topic. “I figured it’d be better to let you do it where a little mess wouldn’t matter.”

“You…” Dean reached for the gun that was tucked in the back of his pants.

Sam put a hand on his arm. “Dean.” 

The older brother took a deep breath and reluctantly left his weapon where it was. Sam pursed his lips, outwardly calm attention on Bryce, “You said you needed help.”

Bryce winced as the constant veil of concern on Cassie’s face grew darker. He nodded at the younger Winchester. “It’s our little girl.”

Dean visibly shuddered and mumbled under his breath.

“She’s not well. I need your brother’s help to fix it.”

Cassie’s chair scraped noisily across the floor as she moved to stand. Bryce tried to catch her hand, but she slipped past him and out of the room.

Dean watched her leave and asked again, through clenched teeth. “Five years, man?”

Bryce sighed heavily. “Would you like me to get you a newspaper?” 

Dean rapped his fingers on the table, trying to fathom the loss of time. Then, he gestured between Bryce and the empty seat previously occupied by Cassie. “So, you two… I thought you were… you know? Aren’t you into guys?”

Bryce rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t make me incapable of reproduction.”

“So, you and Cassie…” Dean’s expression was a mixture of confusion and disgust.

Now, it was Sam who stood, overlooking the girls without disturbing them. Oblivious to their observer, the older child gave the smaller one a crayon. Sam pointed to the pre-teen, “Laurel?”

Bryce joined Sam and explained, “She lives up the road. Mommy’s helper, you know. Cassie says she couldn’t live without her. Mary’s … can be a handful. Hey, Laurel. Why don’t you go ahead and call it a night, kiddo? It’ll be dark soon.”

“Okay. Good night, Mr. Park. Night, Mare.” Laurel gawked warily at the gigantic guest before grabbing her bag from the couch.

The smaller girl ignored Laurel completely and went on with her coloring. Bryce smiled and waved as Laurel left through the front door. 

Sam huffed, “Mary’s our mother’s name.”

“Cassie’s, too.” Dean added from his seat at the kitchen table. To keep his nerves from totally shattering, he picked up a stainless steel salt shaker and checked it out.

“Where is Mrs. Robinson?” Sam gave a cursory look about the place.

Bryce ripped the cannister from Dean’s hand and placed it firmly back on the table. “She died a couple of years ago. Cassie wanted to keep the house rather than sell it. It’s pretty quiet out here, which is exactly right for our family.”

A flash of heat scorched through Dean. He wiped a hand down his face, struggling to maintain his composure. “You going to tell us what the hell’s going on?”

Bryce gave a small nod, searching for the right words to describe the child. “She’s different.”  
His voice lowered until it became barely audible. “I can fix her. I’m sure of it. But I need the blood of her biological father to do it.”


	17. Chapter 17

Cassie introduced the brothers Winchester as ‘mommy’s friends.’ The little girl never even raised her eyes to look at them. 

An hour later, Dean found Cassie in her daughter’s room, clutching a stuffed sheep to her chest. She stared out of the window at the tire swing her father had mounted for her own sixth birthday. 

Dean stepped softly until he was standing right beside her. He reached out to touch her back and she nearly leapt out of her skin to get away from him. “Sorry.”

Dean held his hands in the air to show he meant no harm. 

Slowly calming down, she explained. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Dean started to rest his hand on the small of her back, but hesitated. Instead, he curled his fingers into a fist and dropped it at his side. It troubled him; Cassie had never been so jumpy. He ran one of his restless hands over the windowsill and thought about salting it at the first opportunity. “You know, I can feel it when you’re pissed at me.”

She shook her head, still staring out of the window. Her gaze landed anywhere but on the man in front of her. “I understand why you left.”

Dean still didn’t quite dare to get closer, despite how much he longed to connect. “I never left. I was fucking spirited away and that’s not the same thing.” In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to put a bullet through Bryce’s head for what he had cost them. All that precious time: gone. “Why’d you marry him?”

“We’re not married, although my mother begged us to. I had the best father on earth, Dean. How could I raise her without one? Bryce has been … so good to us.”

“But she’s mine.” The words left his mouth in a quieter, more reverent tone than he had intended. It was as much a statement of fact as a question. 

Cassie only blinked at him.

“I just need to hear you say it.”

Even then, she only gave a small nod. She took a deep breath to stave off the breakdown that was always on the horizon.

Dean mirrored her nod. “I’m here now. I’m never going to leave you again.”

~

The screen door shut noisily as Sam stepped onto the back porch. He took a breath of crisp air and frowned thoughtfully at Cassie pushing Mary on the swing. It was a familiar image from a vividly violent dream he would much rather forget. 

“You smoke, Stretch?”

He spun quickly, not having seen Bryce on a white bench, holding up a pack of cigarettes. 

“Uh. No. Thank you.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t used to either. Used to work out every day, too. Had the six-pack. The whole deal.” He nodded in the general direction of Sam’s body. “Kids. You know?”

Sam returned a tight smile and nodded, more out of courtesy than actual knowledge about the topic. 

“Cassie always thought that we … that you and I had something.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam lowered his face to hide the tinge that must be coloring his cheeks.

Bryce chuckled, “Too bad. That could have been a lot of fun.”

The hunter cleared his throat, definitely ready for a change of subject. Almost as if he heard Sam’s thought, Bryce took a drag from his cigarette. As he breathed out a cloud of smoke, he asked. “What do you think, Sam? If you had the chance to kill Hitler or Stalin when they were kids, you think you could?”

It was not the next statement he expected and for a moment, Sam was silent, entirely caught of guard. “I don't know.”

Bryce pointed to him like a game show host awarding a prize. “That's the only right answer. Most people I’ve asked that question shout out ‘yes’, but they don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. They’d all like to think they could snuff a child. After all, it’s for the greater good, right? But what if you had the chance to be of influence … toId help raise them? Couldn’t you change things that way? Wouldn’t that be better?”

“I would think so.” 

Bryce nodded, eyes fixed on Cassie and his little girl. “I’m going to tell you something I never told anyone, Sam.”

People often confided in him, because, unlike his brother, he knew when not to speak. Sam lowered himself onto the top step. He torqued his body sideways, so he could still see Bryce’s face. 

“The first time I heard the name Mary Winchester, I was about the age she is now. A man… an old man came to me in my bathroom mirror and he told me a story about a scientist who became supreme world leader. He said that over the course of her reign, she culled five billion people in a campaign she called The Clearing. She cleared the sick, the poor and the old first. The intention was to prune humanity down to a thriving critical mass, alleviate political, economic and environmental strife. The way he told it, she had an vibrant camp of supporters in the beginning. Then, she added the religious and homosexuals to the list of those to be cleared.” 

Sam couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Mary Winchester? This Mary?” 

Bryce shrugged, “I’m not sure. She was supposed to have been born in 2001, not 2006. So, maybe that delay was enough to change everything. There’s no way to know. The Commander stopped visiting me when I was thirteen. I’ve waited to meet Cassie and done the best I could since then.”

“The Commander?” Sam’s brow furrowed as his mind scrambled to process what Bryce was saying.

“I can only assume he was executed. At first I thought the man in the mirror was a ghost and that he was telling me a made up story or about something that had happened in the past. I was young. I didn’t know fantasy from history. As I became older, though, I came to understand that he was communicating from the future. And that he was … “

Sam waited, breath baited.

Bryce took a breath. “Me. In fifty years. Apparently, I was on the inner circle of her administration, but eventually I became part of an insurrection and tried to assassinate her. While awaiting execution, I reached out for help, in what most would consider an unconventional way. But of course, I come from an unconventional background. I have tools at my disposal that were beyond the ordinary scope. 

“The Commander only learned later in life that he … that I had attended the same college as Mary Winchester’s mother. It seemed like a viable plan to convince my younger self to stop the supreme leader from ever being born. Unfortunately, in my cell, I didn’t have anything available to me other than my own mind and a mirror as a conduit for my magic, so it was my only chance.”

Sam’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Why would you give that kind of mission to such a young child? Why wouldn’t you visit yourself at twenty or …?”

“A twenty year old mind is nowhere near supple enough to receive that kind of infiltration. I understand that now. I understand everything I did… that I do, in the future. And I finally know what I can do about it. That’s why I need your brother—why I need his blood. I need him to help me stop this. I can purify her, but Dean has to cooperate.” Bryce took a long last drag from his cigarette before stamping it out in the seashell he was using as an ashtray.

“You can understand why he’s not exactly eager to trust you?”

Bryce stood, still watching his family. “And do you understand that in the original timeline, your brother hacks Cassie into pieces and then, shoots himself.”

Sam sucked in a quick breath. “I saw that too. In my … I have…” He figured after the bombshell Bryce just dropped, he had nothing to lose. “Visions. Dreams that …”

The black haired man slid down onto the step right beside him with a foot, give or take, between their knees. “There's something to you, Sam, that maybe you’re not ready to acknowledge. I sensed it from the start. It’s not magical. It doesn’t feel telluric, but it’s… palpable.”

“I don’t …” Sam didn’t know where to begin to talk about what was going on with him. Dean didn’t want to hear it and somehow, discussing it with Bryce seemed like a betrayal.

“It can be scary, I know. It’s a heavy burden, being different. Being powerful.” His hand landed carefully, but very intentionally, on Sam’s thigh.

He squinted at it and back up into Bryce’s practically black eyes. It was completely unclear to Sam why, but he didn’t move or insist the other man do so.

“I am, fundamentally, a pacifist, Sam. It was always only my plan to scare your brother off. Back when Cass and I were in college, by the time I had come up with a spell that would do the trick, he was already gone. All she told me was that he had hit her …”

That did it. Sam knocked the hand away and leapt to his feet. “Dean would never.”

“Yeah, except that he did.” 

Pacing back and forth like a caged tiger in front of the back porch steps, Sam shook his head, refusing to accept the idea that Dean could behave that way. Finally, he stopped and pointed a stiff finger in Bryce’s face. “No. You did something to him. You made him do that.’ 

Cooly, Bryce crossed one leg over the other and seemed almost amused with Sam’s agitation. “Your faith in your big brother is inspiring, but misguided. You two come from a violent, unpredictable upbringing. It’s really not any surprise that you have no idea how to be in a healthy relationship.”

“That is not…” Sam wanted to go on arguing, but his anger was beginning to cloud his mind and cause his throat to clamp. He was still trying to shake the notion from his head as Bryce went on speaking.

“I was prepared to do whatever it took to keep them apart, but then, she graduated and he stayed out of the picture and I figured we were home free. Then Mr. Robinson was killed and the fucking cat came back. That was when I used the spell intended to get rid of him. It was a little something my people picked up from the Hebrews. Florid and effective.”

Sam squinted, still visibly upset, but also beginning to compose himself. He let out a loud breath. “When that didn't work, you put us in the desert?”

Bryce shrugged, but there was something in his voice vaguely resembling an apology. “It was the last straw. You have to understand, the Commander ordered me to kill Cassie and your brother before Mary Winchester could even be conceived. But I’ve always known, there has to be a better way.”

Sam’s chin lifted slowly as he contemplated and began to accept what the man was saying. “Raise her as your own. Change the child, change the future.” 

Bryce nodded. “She was a beautiful baby. You can’t imagine. I’m talking about a little Gerber angel. She started out perfectly normal. Above average really. Walking before she was a year old. Talking in complete, coherent sentences by two. Just before her third birthday, Cassie found her dissecting the kitten. That’s around the time I began to suspect that Pat-a-cake and Dr. Seuss weren’t going to cut it. 

“The first spell I tried made her catatonic. Cassie… God, she flipped. With good reason, I mean. It took me a year to refine it to the point that she’s functional again, but Mary still doesn't talk or eat or sleep. But I’ve figured out what’s missing… You can believe, I would not have called your brother if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. But it is. And I would much rather have him donate than … use other means to get it.”

Sam narrowed his eyes as he registered the threat, but decided to ignore it. “And this spell…”

“Will purify Mary’s blood, once and for all. And it’s the only way. The only good option I have. I can’t hurt her, but it was naive of me to think I could save the world just by being a good father.”

“For what it's worth, my dad has the same motives. Different method, same intention. Saving the world is a big job for any one man.”

Bryce left his seat on the stairs and stood beside Sam. “You don’t know how much I love them. I’d do anything. This is … it’s not something I thought I would ever have. You probably can’t understand that.” 

Across the yard, Cassie lifted Mary down from the swing. Solemnly, she raised a hand toward them. Bryce waved back heartily. Sam found his own hand rising slightly before he used it to wipe down his face. Before what happened to Jessica, he’d actually had the audacity to think he had a shot at a normal family life. That dream was up in flames. This was his impossible reality.

Bryce turned to face Sam. “Probably I should have killed your brother when I had the chance. But that won’t cut it now. No matter what else happens, I … have to end it before it begins.”


	18. Chapter 18

Dean rooted around in the trunk of the Impala, noisily and needlessly shifting and rearranging their equipment. A grip fell on his shoulder. Dean spun and ended with the dagger firmly on Sam’s throat. His brother froze with his open palms near his own shoulders; he wasn’t armed and wasn’t planning to fight. He peered down at the weapon. “I suppose I have this coming.”

“What are you talking about?” Instantly, Dean relaxed. He flipped the hilt so the blade was facing himself and handed it over to his younger brother.

Sam simply sighed and placed it neatly back into the trunk with the other knives. “I’m talking about you, maybe, wanting to kill me.”

Dean winced, “Look, we don’t have time for this. We’re going to take these girls and get the hell out of Dodge.”

Sam sighed. He had expected a suggestion along those lines, “And then…”

“Then, we do what we do. We look after them. End of story.”

Sam stepped in front of his brother. “How are we supposed to protect them if we don’t even know what we’re up against? I mean, I agree that what’s going on with Mary seems … beyond the medical pale.”

“So, you’re saying I should give this guy my blood?”

Sam grimaced up at the house. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

“This whole Terminator story, doesn’t seem kind of far fetched to you?” Dean rifled through the weapons and supplies.

“Terminator?”

“You know, John Connor …. forget it. Cassie wants me to do it, too. But she doesn’t know the things this guy made me … I mean, he made me hurt her, Sam. I’m supposed to just forget that?” Dean picked up his Bravo 1 and held it in his hand for the sheer comfort of its weight. 

“He says it wasn't him.”

Dean scoffed. “Oh, well, then, if he says so … Get your head out of your ass, Sam. What, you got a crush on him?”

“I believe him.” Sam met his brother’s critical gaze. “Think about it. Why would he lie? We know what he is and what he’s capable of. The guy is at wit’s end. He's just trying to save … your daughter.”

Dean shoved his brother. “Don't … don't you even. I know she is my fucking daughter. You think I don't know that? Seventy-two hours ago, I didn't even know Cassie was pregnant. Now, I have a three year old kid, so excuse me if it takes a second for me to fucking catch up.” Dean backed off when he realized he was pointing at his brother with the business end of a hunting knife.

“She's four.” Sam corrected quietly.

Dean flashed him a murderous glare.

“Also, Dean …”

“No.” He replaced the weapon and picked up a box of ammunition. 

“We have to talk about this.”

“No, we don't.” Dean barked like he was giving an order. 

Sam looked to the sky for help. “Dean, I need to.”

Dean shook his head gravely. “Just let it go.”

“Dammit, I’m trying to apologize.”

The older brother, finally, looked up directly into his little brother’s distressed face. “Fine. Apology accepted. You happy?”

Sam almost whined, “No.”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m angry? Well, I’m not. You’re attracted to Cassie. Join the club. We had to agree on one eventually. You and her, you have stuff in common. I get that. Okay, Sam? How am I going to be mad at you for getting it on with an amazing girl? I’ll admit, I was a little surprised. Didn’t think you had it in you.” Dean tapped his kid brother on the arm with a little smirk, hoping this could be the end of it.

Visibly disturbed by his brother nonchalance, Sam swallowed thickly. “Listen. I would never… Look, something … I just want you to know … You have to know that I'm not like that.”

“What? Human? Yeah, I know you like to think you’re so much better than the rest of us. You’ve always been like that.” 

Sam froze. His mouth fell open, speechless.

Dean tossed the box back into the trunk. “It happened. It’s over. Life goes on. We stick together, Sam. We’re family. All of us. A weird, fucked up family, but not really that much worse than before. Dad’s got his mission, now we have ours: Cassie and Mary. That’s it. You have a problem with that?”

“No.” Sam replied without even thinking.

Dean nodded and once again, clapped his brother’s shoulder. “All the other shit will work itself out. What we need to do is figure out how to help Mary. Now. Not in the future. If she goes on not eating, not sleeping… Well, we can’t let that happen.” 

Finally, Dean dug out and sheathed his current favorite gun: a hand carved, ivory-handled pistol he had liberated from a Moroccan arms dealer/food truck owner. Respectfully, he ran his thumb over the barrel. “I'm going to do this. But only because you are going to keep your eyes on that asshole the entire time. If I so much as blink funny, you are going to gank that crooked sonovabitch.” 

Dean slapped the gun flat against his brother’s chest. 

Sam frowned down at the weapon in his hand, almost as if he didn’t know what he was holding. “That's the plan?”

Dean shrugged. “You got something better?”

Sam exhaled and shook his head. “No.”

“All right, then. Let's do this.” Dean slammed the trunk shut, as if the sound was punctuation.


	19. Chapter 19

The living room table was covered in a white cloth. A circle of black candles was arranged at one end, with small white bowls in the center. From where he stood, behind Bryce’s chair, Sam recognized plant matter and crushed bones but couldn’t explicitly identify anything. Mary sat on the floor beside Cassie, bouncing a princess doll over the parapets of a tiny castle. 

Holding a scalpel, Bryce reached for Dean’s hand. In turn, Dean held out his upturned palm for the implement. Bryce balked, glanced over his shoulder at Sam’s stoic glare.

Dean turned up his nose. “Why do you keep looking at him? You two got something you want to tell me?”

Bryce rolled his eyes. “I don’t exactly appreciate having a gun to my head while I’m trying to perform.” 

“Well, I don’t exactly like anything about this, so let’s just fucking get it over with.” Dean sliced his own arm and pursed his lips as his blood dripped thickly into a white dish.

At Bryce’s nod, he lifted his arm and slid the bowl across the table. Face blank with concentration, Bryce began mixing ingredients into a large silver bowl while chanting under his breath in a language neither Winchester recognized. He began quietly, voice crescendoing to a feverish murmur. He poured one half of Dean’s blood into the stew. The rest, he turned up to his own mouth and drank. Both brothers grimaced. Dean groaned and turned away.

Teeth tinged pink, Bryce shouted a final syllable.

Sam shored up his grip on the gun. “Dean. How do you feel?”

The older brother did a cursory, internal self-check. He patted his own chest and shook his head. “No change. Still awesome.”

“Ye of little faith.” Bryce dropped a match into the bowl. There was a flash and then, nothing.

“That it?” Dean’s brow raised, obviously unimpressed. 

Then, Bryce began to levitate.

~

The sight of the man sprawled, mouth agape, on the ceiling paralyzed Dean’s body and sent his mind right back to his baby brother’s nursery when he was four years old. He just waited for the flames to break out. It distracted him to the point that he didn’t see little Mary wander to his side.

When she was standing directly in front of him, Dean fell to his knees, although it was too quickly to be entirely of his own accord. Cassie stood near the sofa watching with tired, confused eyes. “Mary?”

“Not at the moment, Mother-dear.” Mary’s hand brushed down Dean’s cheek, a soft smile on her round face. “You can’t know how long I’ve dreamed of this. Meeting you. Touching you.”

He gazed up at her, stunned and unable to come up with a single word. 

“Can you tell me one thing, Dean? Why are all fathers abandoners?”   
Dean struggled to speak. “I … I never would have left you or your mother.”

Her eyes flicked to the ceiling, where Bryce remained suspended. “You let him try to claim me. That’s abandonment.”

“Claim you? I never…” Dean shook his head, emphatically denying the accusation he barely understood. 

A knowing smile dawned on the little girl’s cherubic face. She grinned up at Bryce, “You slimy fuck. You didn’t tell him the true nature of the spell, did you?” 

Her small fingers curled slowly into a fist. The tighter they furled, the louder the chokes sobbed out of Bryce’s mouth. Sam glanced up at him and back at the child. “No.”

“You're right. You’re absolutely right, Sam. He's inconsequential.” She dropped her hand and Bryce fell from the ceiling to the floor, landing with a dull thump and the certainty of at least a few cracked ribs. 

“What do you say we finish this story, Dean?”

Cassie gasped and rushed to Bryce’s aid. As she was moving, Dean leapt to his feet and reached out like a viper. He caught her with his arm wrapped like a vice around her chest and arms. With his other hand, he held his knife firmly to her throat. His face a mask of turmoil, he whispered. “Sammy.”

Sam turned instantly and raised his gun on his brother. “What the hell, Dean?”

“I'm not doing this.” Dean muttered.

Mary threw back her head, wavy golden hair cascading down her back as she howled with laughter. “Of course, you are. Just like you always wanted to.”

“No.”

“Oh, Dean.” The child smiled, with an unmistakably condescending air.

Still gripping her straining form tight to his chest, Dean spoke into Cassie’s ear. “I swear I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted that.”

“Well, I beg to differ. And I can prove it.” Mary put her hands on her little hips. “If there wasn't a part of you that wanted to hurt her, I couldn't make you. The word ‘compel’ is misleading. It’s not a matter of forcing, but removing your inhibition and allowing you to.   
Dean, you can never deny how good it felt to express that anguish. To lash out at this cruel woman who rejected your love time and again. To take out the hurt you felt from all of them.

Cassie. Dean abandoned you. He disappeared into this other world again. How good was it to take revenge and refuge in Sam's beautiful body? And you, sweet Sammy. You know you needed to channel all that loss and jealousy and resentment into your attraction to this woman. For once in your life just to fuck a woman like the animal you are. That's the biggest problem with humanity. You’re all slaves to your inhibitions. You know what this world would be like if you humans just gave in to your passions?”

“It was you? ” Sam’s brow wrinkled. “Possession?”

Finally catching on, Dean shouted, “Christo.”

Mary scoffed. “Christo? Seriously? You think I'm a demon? That is so offensive.”

“If not a demon, what?”

“I'm your fucking guardian angel, Daddy. Now. Enough talk. Curtains.” The child spoke the last word calmly but with authority, like she was directing a play.

Dean’s teeth gritted as his muscles strained. He uncurled his arm from around Cassie’s head only to hold her head firmly and arch her neck to grant better access to his blade. “Sam.”

“Always so strong willed. End her, Dean.” Mary coaxed.

“Why?” Dean whimpered. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s beautiful. It’s poetry.” The little girl cooed. “Do you know how you were supposed to die? Do you want to know what was written on your heavenly scroll? Liver cirrhosis at sixty-six. You're too good for that. Your tender heart, your fiery spirit. You deserve poetry, Dean. You deserve to end in a blaze of passion and glory, taking with you your greatest loves when you go, so that no one can ever see them or touch them again. To your knees, Sam.”

Sam dropped like a sinner in penitent prayer. The gun fell from his hands. He breathed heavily.

“Dean. Listen.” Mary reasoned. “I’ve orchestrated perfection for you. You’ll end Cassie. Then, Sam. Then, yourself. And this gorgeous child will become the most powerful, important human who ever lived. You’re welcome. That is the legacy I've planned for you and your name.” She smiled, eyes bright with a sick pride. “I want you to know: no one has ever loved you like I do.”

Still on his knees, Sam grunted and strained and managed to raise his gun on Mary.

For the first time, Cassie wrestled to be free. She bucked and struggled against Dean’s solid hold. “No. Sam, no. Don’t you … Please. God. Please.” 

Mary smiled sweetly. “Good bye, Cassie.”

Dean closed his eyes, rallying the last of his physical and mental strength. As he trembled, reaching the end of his rope, the front door opened. Laurel walked into the room in a pair of flannel Hannah Montana pajamas and spoke past a retainer. “What have you done?”

“Oh! Welcome to the party, brother.” Mary waved a hand at Dean. “With all due respect, fuck you.”

Castiel rolled her lips together, but declined to respond. “You may call me Castiel.”

Mary reflected on the name choice. “I like it.”

“It is time for you to come home.”

Mary scoffed. “Home? In case you’ve forgotten, I was cast out of heaven for being a visionary.”

“You were cast out for the liberties you took. There is a code of conduct to guarding humans, Martiel. One for which you show no respect.” Castiel, in Laurel’s form, spoke firmly while remaining perfectly calm.

“I took the mission to new heights. I was punished because I saw what was possible.”

“I know.” Bryce spoke quietly, wincing as he rolled to his side. “I know your plans for Mary. You want to use her to destroy humanity.”

She sucked her teeth, impatiently. “No no no. You’re so fucking dramatic. Together, she and I are going to make humanity better than it ever would have been on its own.”

“She’ll kill billions of people.” Bryce argued.

“And it will be so fabulous. I prefer to think of it as an aggressive culling. Just wait. You’ll see how much better… well, you won’t.” She laughed and shrugged. 

Castiel frowned. “Is there a single rule you haven’t broken or intend to break?”

Mary sucked her teeth, impatiently. “Rules are intended to be revised, brother, by thinking, creative creatures, unlike yourself.”

“God’s rules?”

“If Dad gave so much of a shit, he would have stopped me himself, not pinched together a knock off, ordinary like you. I’ll have you know, I love this family. I want nothing but to free them, Castiel.  
At first, it was only Dean that I loved. Look at him. Look into him. He is everything: the torment, the longing. You see it so plainly in him why they are our Father’s favorites. Through Dean, I’ve grown to adore all his damaged darlings. Because of him, I have learned true, self effacing love.

You sense that feeling you have for Mary, brother. That concern for her that gave you life. Dean’s mother breathed that into me. And I protected him by the books for so long. Until I realized that I could do so much more. I could help him take that abandonment and anger and passion and turn it into something meaningful.  
All I wanted was to help him experience a death fitting his beauty and magnificence.” Mary used her small hands to paint an imaginary picture in the air. “I had this vision of him ending the loves that rip him apart from the inside and then, ending himself. All of them, covered in blood. Bathed in crimson. So exquisite. And he is. How can any of the hosts blame me? This is no ordinary charge. He has the heart of Alexander, don’t you think? Even now, all the warmth and love coursing through the fear? So beautiful, Dean.”

Laurel shook her lowered head in consternation. “This is an abomination, Maertiel. This child is not quite a nephilim, but …”

“Damn close, right?” The little girl looked down at her own body, brushing off her chest with a gratified smirk. 

“This cannot be allowed to persist.” Laurel spoke sternly.

“There’s nothing you can…”

Before the small child could finish the statement, Laurel had raised her hand. A beam of white, bright light emanated between them. Then, Mary crumpled to the floor.


	20. Chapter 20

Dean’s arms slackened and Cassie fled from him. She covered Mary’s body with her own as Laurel scrutinized mother and child with a tight face. 

Dean barely had time to appreciate full control of his own faculties again before he was facing down the pre-teen girl clutching his blade at the ready. “What the hell are you?”

“I am an angel of the Lord.”

Dean looked at Sam whose eyes widened. 

“Like my brother.” Laurel sighed down at Mary. 

“An angel?”

Laurel nodded. “A seraph becomes a guardian on the energy of a mother’s most desperate prayer. When we receive an earthly mission, we take an earthly vessel and a name which is usually derived from the name of God and the name of the mother. My brother, Maeriel, was summoned by your mother, Dean.”

“Guardian angel?” Dean spat out the words with all the doubt and contempt he could muster.

“That is the human term.”

“If that’s true, Sam must have one of these nut jobs after him, too.”

Laurel’s eyes flicked coolly at Sam. “No.” 

“So, all this time, Laurel….?” Sam asked carefully, registering the girl’s inexplicable distaste for him.

“I am not Laurel. Laurel is, currently, my vessel. I was called upon by this Mary’s mother. Hence, I take the name Castiel.”

“Shield of god.” Sam translated the Latin.

“It is quite rare for a seraph to meet its matron. It is truly an honor.” Castiel bowed low before Cassie with a hand on the chest of his vessel.

She looked to Sam for further explanation. When he wouldn’t meet her eyes, she turned back to the pre-teen. “I’m sorry. What?”

“I’m sure you understand that God is our father ... In a sense, if an angel could have a mother, you would be mine.”

Cassie huffed, in sheer bewilderment. “I’m … I don’t understand.”

“I am a seraph. One among an order of what you call guardian angels. My essence has existed since creation, of course, but the energy is coalesced into what you call a personality when a mother prays for her child. 

Humans are not generally allowed to interact directly with my kind. Nor we with you. These are, however, unusual circumstances. I’m afraid one of my brothers has greatly overstepped his bounds.” Castiel gestured to Mary, who was sitting in her mother’s lap now, harmlessly letting Cassie pet her hair.

“Okay, I’ve heard enough.” Dean raised his gun to Laurel’s face.

Sam threw himself between his brother and the girl. “Dean!”

“Sam, get out of the way. There is no such thing as angels.”

“I know that, but, she did help us.”

Dean scowled, but eventually lowered the gun slightly so he wasn’t pointing it directly into his brother’s chest. “If this thing is what that thing is…” he gestured with his pistol between Laurel and Mary.

“Would you, please, put that away?” Cassie begged, holding her daughter’s face to her chest.

Sam spoke softly and slowly, “Maybe that’s not the whole story, Dean.” Then, he turned to Castiel. “Please excuse my brother. Castiel, right?”

The young girl nodded serenely.

Bryce shook his head, arm clutched around his chest. “He’s an idiot.”

She shrugged. “He is the reason we’re all here.”

Dean gave Bryce the finger and, at Laurel’s proclamation, did a double take, “What?”

Castiel smiled Laurel’s face, “You are … strangely fascinating. I begin to understand the infatuation.”

“Infatuation?” Sam glanced at Cassie, but quickly looked away.

“Just as humans enjoy watching each other, there are certain members of your species whom we, angels, find particularly entertaining. Usually, it is because of your emotionality. It’s… so often so captivatingly irrational. It doesn’t happen often, but every now and then, one of my brothers will become completely infatuated with a human being and then we have… incidences such as this.  
There is an appropriate human vessel to contain each angel’s essence. Such a connection between terrestrial and celestial being is singular. But this, what Martiel has done, is … different.” Castiel reached out to touch Mary’s forehead.

The pre-teen’s eyes closed as her hand raised over Mary’s head. She breathed deeply, head craning from left to right as if she were, somehow, reading the child. She opened her eyes and looked from Dean to Sam. “He has engineered this child and grafted himself into the fiber of her being, her DNA. Each genetic choice has been selected - chosen from three sources to create precisely this child.”

“Three sources?” Cassie asked. 

Castiel met her eyes. “Two fathers.”

Bryce nodded, understanding instantly. “The ritual must be taking hold.”

Castiel shook her head. “No. A spell of that nature alters memories only. It takes power of another order to change the genetic code, earthly and heavenly scrolls. This, what I’m sensing, is biological, organic in nature.”

One of Dean’s eyes nearly closed as he strained to make sense of what Castiel was saying, “Okay. You lost me at two fathers.”

“Cassie’s mark is clear in her. As is yours. And yours.” Castiel’s gaze landed gently on Sam.

His jaw fell open. Cassie covered her mouth with her hand and cast a dejected glance at Dean who scratched the back of his skull as he paced the floor.

“It is against heavenly law to meld celestial energy with human genetic material. Maeriel has done precisely that. Because of the unprecedented nature of this child’s origins, I deem it safest to eliminate the risk of what it might become.”

As Laurel moved toward Mary, Cassie whined and tried to shield her child with her body. Seeing her distress, Dean stepped between them. 

“There’s no need to worry. It will be painless. Then, I can take my brother back to heaven to be tried.” Once again Castiel, in Laurel’s vessel, reached a hand out toward Mary.

Dean raised his knife. “You touch her, you’re going to be the one with a one way ticket to… wherever the hell you came from.”

“You. Angel.” Bryce had managed to sit up and pin himself to the wall for support. With an arm wrapped around his chest, he let Sam help him to his feet. “Is there a way to kill this thing without hurting her?”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed, “I can not help you harm my brother. But I may be able to help you save the girl. I will try.” She reached out cautiously until Mary and Cassie indicated that it was all right for her to lay her hands gently on either cheek.

“If she becomes mine … will that thing … ”

Castiel considered Bryce’s proposal, “If she were to become your child, body and soul, perhaps… But your spell is not quite strong enough to repel my brother and hide the child from him.”

Looking at the Winchesters, Bryce suggested, “Even with both blood of both fathers?”

“Blood alone will not suffice. But there may be a way to bolster the incantation that will have the desired result. I will return with precise instructions.”

Cassie rocked the unconscious child in her arms. At that word, she looked up for the first time, face tear-streaked and exhausted. 

“If we are to take this route, the spell will need to be binding on heaven and earth. I will need to return to heaven and be sure this is an acceptable resolution. You’ll await my return.” Castiel shut Laurel’s eyes. When they reopened, the girl looked bashfully around the room. “Mrs. Robinson?” 

Sam stepped to her side and ushered the bewildered pre-teen to take a seat on the sofa. Dean had already laid a blanket from the back of the sofa over Cassie and Mary, who was asleep on her lap. Sam checked the closet. The best thing he could find was a tan trench coat. He draped that over Laurel’s legs. Finally, he turned his attention to Bryce who was still clutching his ribs, wincing with the pain. 

“I suppose this means I’ll need both of your blood.” Bryce began to hobble back into the kitchen.

Sam stared at the sleeping child with wide, unfocused eyes.

“No.” Dean jammed his knife into the table. “Fuck, no. You want to ‘change her sire?’ Is that what I think it means?”

“It means he becomes her father.” Sam spoke softly, as if the sound of his own voice was too much to bear.

“Hell, no. Absolutely not. Mary is my kid … Fucking, our kid. I don’t know. She’s a Winchester. She’s one of us and we're doing this our way.”

“You heard the angel.” Bryce tried to take a step away from the chair he was using for support. He bent forward.

Dean spared no sympathy for his pain or his argument. “I don't believe in angels. You know why? Because there’s no such thing. Cassie. I’m going to need you to pack a bag for you and one for Mary. Only what you need.”

He began to march toward the steps when Bryce pinched his thumb and forefinger together, causing the French doors to the living room to shut loudly. 

“I fucking hate magic.” Dean turned to face him.

“We wait for the angel. If he says there's no other way … then, we cross that bridge. Agreed?” Bryce flicked his finger and a chair slid under Dean’s knees, knocking him into a seated position. 

Dean stood again, raising his blade.

“Dean.” Sam placed himself between them. “There’s no reason we can’t wait.”

The older brother narrowed his eyes, but finally relented. “Fine. We’ll wait.”


	21. Chapter 21

Dean couldn’t help notice that Cassie had hardly spoken a word since he and Sam had been brought out of the desert. It was as though Mary’s silence had wormed its way into her mother’s mind as well and stolen Cassie’s will to talk.

He never thought he’d missed that belligerent attitude of hers. He couldn’t help but be drawn to the sound of her reaming someone out. 

“… not going to do that!” 

Those were the only words he made out before he took her side and gave Bryce a warning glare.

“Hey. What is this?”

The other man turned his back and left the room. 

“You okay?” He took her shoulders, carefully in his hands and searched her face.

“I’m fine.” She looked up at him, looking anything other than fine. “I think you’re right. We should go.”

“Hey. Whatever we do, it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to let anything happen to you or Mary. You understand me?”

She bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath, trying just to keep it together. More than anything, she wanted to believe him.

~

With all quiet in the house, Sam had been designated the couch as his resting place. The fact was, Cassie was with Mary. Bryce had his own room and Dean was in Cassie’s. Sam had taken what was left over. Of course, the sofa was too short, but that hardly mattered, because he had no intention on actually sleeping. 

He stepped into the kitchen, planning on just having some water, and found Bryce sifting through his dark materials on the table. He looked up over his shoulder at the tall man. “Thought everyone was asleep.”

Sam shook his head and made his way to the sink. “It’s been one hell of a day.”

“Yes, it has.” 

By the time Sam had finished his drink and had his fill of staring out of the window into the night, he turned and discovered there was no space to take the step backward that would have put even a single inch between himself and Bryce. 

The black-haired man caught and held Sam’s gaze. The hand that wasn’t protecting his ribs traveled slowly up Sam’s muscled chest and rested on his shoulder. Hooking there, he pulled Sam down into a scorchingly slow and surprisingly sweet kiss. Then, he gave Sam some space: not much, but enough to catch his breath. A hopeful, welcoming smile played on his lips. 

“Um…” Sam scrambled to bring his brain back online. He stared at his feet, listening to his own heartbeat in his ears.

“Bad timing?”

Sam huffed. “I think so. Yeah.” 

Bryce nodded and made room for him to escape. 

“Oh, Sam.”

“Yeah.”

Bryce tossed the amulet. “If you ever change your mind.”

~

Dean climbed out of the shower, scrubbed his spiky hair dry and caught a glimpse of the ghost of himself in the foggy mirror. With his fist, he swiped away the condensation and stared into his own eyes for a moment. He peered at his reflection, watched himself squint, closed his eyes and even leaned closer as if searching for something in the image.

“Mom? …Future me? Somebody. I could really use a fucking hand here.”

~

Dean stepped quietly into the pink bedroom and stood behind where Cassie knelt on the floor next to Mary’s bed. “She’s beautiful.”

Cassie nodded without turning. He waited there, watching them both, until she finally stood.   
They left the room together, hand in hand, Cassie closing the door very gingerly behind her.

“Listen…” Dean started.

She looked up at him with dark, heavy eyes that challenged him to find fitting words. He shook his head, aware that nothing he could say would be adequate. Finally, she leaned her forehead on his shoulder. Relief washed warm over him as he wrapped his arms around her, closed his eyes and rested his cheek on her hair.

***

 

Despite all appearances, Sam was not asleep. Nestled in the dark, he lay on the couch fully dressed, completely awake, listening to the old wood in the house crack and settle for the night.

He heard the soft footsteps on the stairs before he saw her. A few minutes ago, Cassie had been singing a lullaby he had never heard. The only one he knew was Rock-a-Bye-Baby. This was something about a mockingbird and a bunch of other stuff. 

It was nice: her voice was pleasant, lower than he would have expected. Sam had closed his eyes and imagined what it would be like to be on the receiving end of a mother's affection. Maybe never having experienced that was what had always made him feel like such a freak.

He caught himself sighing and folded his arms under his head. Sam knew he was right to be uncertain of this plan. It wasn’t a plan at all. Even if Mary had been a normal little girl, theirs was not exactly a kid friendly lifestyle. And Mary was no ordinary child.

The fact that Cassie was willing to give up her home and her security to follow Dean made Sam feel even more lonely than usual and that was saying something. Usually, he felt completely alone. Even with Dean. Even more so, since Jess was gone. He swallowed the jealousy and tried to think of something else. Jessica burning on the ceiling with her eyes wide open and accusing was his default. That didn't help him feel better. Then, again, he didn’t think he didn't deserve to feel better. So much of this shit was his fault.

In a matter of mere seconds, the negative thoughts had spiraled to the point of causing his stomach to knot up. He held his breath, hoping it would just pass.

Cassie was at the bottom of the steps. As the silhouette of her slender frame rounded the corner, Sam considered looking away. Then, he figured she would assume he was asleep anyway. She’d never know that he was laying in the dark watching her like the kind of creep he obviously was.

He felt like a helpless little kid again, waiting for Dean to say it was finally time for them to go. In reality, he knew that they were waiting for Bryce to sleep so they could make a smooth getaway. At the moment, the warlock was still putzing around the kitchen, so it might be a while. Not that they would be afraid of the guy under usual circumstances, but they had been on the wrong side of his magic before. It was wise not to rile him if it was avoidable.

Rather than continuing on to the kitchen, Cassie approached the couch and whispered his name. Surprised, Sam pretended to rouse slowly, feeling like an immature idiot for pretending. "Mmm?" He replied without moving muscle.

“You asleep?”

“Yeah.” He lied. His voice sounded raw, as if he had been crying or hadn’t spoken for days. He wondered if Cassie noticed that.

She took a breath like she was about to dive into the deep end of a pool. “Do you mind if I sit?” She was already seated by the time she had finished asking the question.

“Sure. What’s up?” Sam tried to sound casual as he scrambled to make space for her. He was moving too fast to have just been asleep, but it was more important to him to not to be too obvious or awkward about the amount of distance he was putting between them.

Even from a few feet away, Cassie’s shampoo smelled familiar and luscious: coconut or something sweet and tropical that reminded Sam of drinking cocktails on the beach. Not that he’d ever done that. Even just thinking about it made him incredibly uncomfortable. He rubbed his huge, clammy hands up and down the rough material of his denim clad thighs.

Cassie watched Sam’s fidgeting out of the corner of her eye. “Your brother’s crazy.”

Good. They were going to talk about Dean. Sam had been afraid or had expected … He didn't even know what to expect. He blew out a breath and forced his fingers to quit twiddling. He even let himself smile. “He always has been.”

“I need you to be honest with me, Sam. Do you think we should leave?”

Not having anticipated this turn in the conversation or her piercing, dark eyes to be searching his so earnestly, he answered as honestly as he could. “It’s what Dean wants.”

“Not what I asked.”

Sam tilted his head back and forth, visibly weighing possible answers. “When I'm in doubt … I just do what he says. He loves you and he'll find a way to protect you. You never have to think twice about that … Is that about what you expected me to say?”

She shrugged and licked her lips. “I need you to help me with something, Sam.”

“If I can, I will.”

“Dean says he isn't upset about you and me. I need to be sure he means it. If we’re … really okay, we'll go. We'll come with you, but only if…"

Sam mulled over Cassie’s words for a moment. “How can we prove that? You know Dean. The guy is like a brick wall.”

“Sometimes. But there are ways to get through to him.”

Sam looked at her outstretched hand for a moment before he took it and let her lead him from the couch.

~

The younger Winchester hesitated at the door to the guest room where he saw his brother sitting at the foot of the bed inspecting a handgun. Without looking up, Dean asked Cassie, “You all packed?”

Then, he noticed Sam and gawked back and forth between them. “What is this?”

“I need something from you.” Cassie walked over boldly and stood at his knees.

“Anything.” He stroked the back of her leg with his free hand.

“I need for you to prove that you don't hate us.”

“What does that mean?” Dean looked to Sam for an explanation, but his brother stood there like a massive, sheepish child.

Cassie reached out for Sam. When he had worked up the courage to approach, she wrapped a hand around his neck and draw his face to hers. Reluctant at first, Sam eventually closed the distance between them and closed his eyes.

This woman was more than fearless. She was a little bit insane; she was also right. This was the only way they could survive living together as a family. Sam dropped his hand to Cassie’s waist and let her lips slide slow and sensuous against his.

She looked into Dean’s wide eyes, grabbed his hand and pulled until he was standing. Their kiss was longer, deeper. She rested her hands on his chest and his arms locked around her.

As they parted for air, Cassie started to push the brothers toward each other.

When he realized her intent, Dean pulled away. “All right. That’s freaky enough.”

Moving suddenly, surprising even himself, Sam leaned forward and kissed his older brother on the cheek. “I'm so sorry.” Then, he softly pressed their lips together. 

Entranced and moving slowly and deliberately, like he was under water, Dean wiped a tear from Sam’s cheek and kissed him again. “So, how is this supposed to …”

Sam grabbed the hem of Dean’s shirt and nearly yanked it over his head.

Dean chuckled uneasily. “OK. Easy, tiger.” Goosebumps popped all over his skin as Sam stroked his back and Cassie sucked his neck. “Wait. Wait. How do I know neither of you is possessed?”

They all inched away from one another, each studying the others’ eyes for some indication of an imposter.

Cassie finally spoke up. “I want you both. I never would have if that thing hadn’t … but now I … I’m sorry. This is crazy.”

As she turned to flee, Dean caught her arm. “That's not what I said. Sammy…”

Sam flinched, “Don’t call me that, Dean. I’m just trying to make things right. If you want this, so do I.”

Cassie rolled her eyes. “Do you two always talk this much?

Sam snickered and wrapped his long arms around both of them. Dean watched them kiss and then, thought of another question. “So, what, Mary calls us mama, papa, and dad?”

“We'll figure it out, Dean.” Cassie kissed him to shut him up.

Dean pulled her shirt over her head and buried his face in her chest. She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. He lifted her from the floor and she leaned back, arching her body to reach out for Sam. With her legs around Dean’s waist, Sam supported her back and ran his palms down her stomach. He smiled at the hungry look in Dean’s eyes. 

The older brother was already winded. “You’ve done this before?”

“Not with you.” Sam’s grin grew even wider, dimples cutting deep into his cheeks.

Dean gaped at Cassie, like he was tattling to a teacher. “You don't expect me to fuck him, do you?”

“Jesus, Dean. Just go with it.” Cassie shoved Dean playfully back onto the bed and climbed onto his lap. 

Before he could lay back, Sam had straddled him from behind. Dean leapt and shifted like he'd been goosed. “Whoa, there… Someone's enjoying themselves.”

Sam thrust his erection right up against Dean’s clothed ass and leaned forward to nuzzle his brother’s neck. “Who would have thought you'd be this uptight?”

“I’m not…” Dean tried not to squirm and failed horribly.

“For god’s sake. Would you two shut up?” Cassie begged and reached behind her own back to loosen her bra.

Sam reached around them both, opened it for her and tossed it onto the floor. Then, he latched onto Dean’s shoulder, hoping to leave a deep, dark mark.

Dean gaped up at Cassie. “You’ve done this before?”

Cassie bit her lower lip, shook her head and watched his full, pinks lips close around her dark, taut nipple. She let her eyes slip shut, reveling in the sensation of Dean’s arms tight around her and Sam’s hands on her face as he licked her lips.

Her head fell back, mouth open as Dean shifted to lave her other breast.

“You two are so hot.” Sam breathed and ran his hands over the soft skin on both of their backs, lightly pressing them closer together.

Cassie smiled and crawled around Dean to lower herself onto Sam as he laid back against the pillows. For a moment, Dean stood stunned, watching his girl writhe on his little brother. Sam’s hand slid between them. Quickly and somewhat clumsily, he shoved his pants and boxers down.

Cassie laughed as Sam lifted her easily on his hips. She glanced over her shoulder and caught Dean’s eye. Blinking at her outstretched hand, he stumbled back toward them and helped Sam remove his pants. Then, he crawled carefully onto Cassie and began to grind the cleft of her ass, but without trying to entering her. He buried his face in her thick, rum-smelling hair. “Too heavy?”

She moaned and shook her head. He left her anyway, to stand and remove his own clothing. 

When Sam asked, “Are you ready?” Cassie nodded.

Dean stroked Cassie’s side and held the ringlets out of her glistening face as she slowly lowered herself onto Sam’s rigid shaft. Her lips parted, eyelids fluttered and she breathily begged Dean, “Kiss me.”

It took an incredible act of will for Dean to tear his gaze away from the joining of his two greatest loves. He crushed his lips against Cassie’s, a bit harder than he’d intended.

Sam’s hands encased Cassie’s waist to hold her aloft so he could snap his hips upward in a rapid, frenzied motion. Moving in and out of her in a desperate pulse, he chased his release with a single-minded abandon.

Hovering over him, Cassie gasped and clutched Dean’s neck with both arms. He felt himself tugged toward them and tensed his own muscles to keep from collapsing forward onto his brother.

It was only a few brief minutes before Sam was near the end of his rope. His whole body spasmed and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second. “Are you close?”

Cassie shook her head, “It’s okay.”

Sam gripped her thighs tightly as he clenched his ass and let himself go with a violent shudder and a series of deep, guttural grunts.

Dean licked his lips, the heat in his chest flaring nearly out of control. “Dude, you sound like a fucking animal.”

Still recovering from his orgasm, Sam chuckled at his brother’s comment and gently stroked  
Cassie’s back. “Thank you.”

She rolled to the side to make room for Sam to leave the bed. Laying on her back, she kneaded the sensitized nub between her legs and waited for Dean.

“So, what? Now, me?” Dean’s eyes widened with uncertainty.

Cassie nodded and beckoned to him.

“Is that even sanitary? Not to mention, legal.”

“Seriously? With all the porn you watch?” Sam grinned, cleaning himself with a tissue.

“They never actually come inside the girls.” Dean reasoned.

Cassie curled the fingers of her free hand and spread her legs wider to accommodate him. “I want you to.”

Sam gave his brother a little shove and Dean climbed between Cassie’s open thighs. Like always, he held his breath as he entered her. Her entrance was even slicker than usual. A shudder ran through Dean at the thought that he was sliding through Sam’s slick. He whimpered and Cassie draped her arm around his neck.

His chest pressed close against hers, as he flowed slowly in and out of her. Their labored and coarse breaths fell into a matched rhythm. Cassie captured Dean’s face in both of her hands and peered up into his eyes. When he noticed the tears on her cheek, he kissed every inch of her face. A smooth slide into her accentuated every worship of his mouth. Instantly overriding his instincts, he froze. “Was this not what you wanted?”

“I want you to forgive me.” She pleaded, choking back a sob.

He nipped her bottom lip and gently slid into her, completely, burying himself within her as deep as he possibly could. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

“Dean.” Cassie pinned him between her thighs, linking her ankles on his back. She clenched her internal muscles around him.

He sat up, bringing her into his lap. Her body trembled as her orgasm swelled and rocked her body in waves of pleasure. Dean slid his mouth against hers and released into her with a barely breathed blasphemy.


	22. Chapter 22

Dean nuzzled Cassie’s cheek. Her eyes remained shut, breath even. Her body felt so tiny between him and Sam. The brothers’ knees touched, forming a tent over her and Sam knocked them together playfully. He reached over her and stroked Dean’s arm.

This was definitely something new. He couldn't say he minded, as unconventional as it was. Sharing Cassie, being intimate with Dean had, at least momentarily, eased the loneliness and shame that had been burned into his mind. He didn’t know how they would handle this on the road. Maybe this was a one time thing, like Cassie said, a way to heal the rift between them.

Whatever it was, he felt good for a change and he wasn’t going to question it.

~

Dean snored softly. Cassie brushed a palm down the side of his relaxed face. He arched slightly towards her, but didn’t rouse.

“I’m so sorry.” She kissed his lips, glanced at Sam’s back and slipped silently from the room.

~

Cassie squatted over the toilet, holding the white container in place as she bore down. It reminded her of the nurses screaming for her to push, of her own primal screams just before she heard Mary’s first cries. Ever since that moment, she had known that she would do absolutely anything for her daughter.

~

The bowl clanged quietly on the table as she placed it among the dried herbs, bones and candles. She had long since exhausted this day’s share of tears and steeled her expression. 

Castiel smiled Laurel’s lips tenderly with a wisdom beyond human comprehension behind her doe’s eyes. She had slipped into the trench coat. Somehow, it suited her, even though the hem dragged the floor. “This is for the best.”

“And they won’t remember anything?” Her voice was thin and strained.

Bryce explained, “It’s like erasing a pencil mark and writing over it with ink. There may be a trace of what was first written, but this new mark is indelible. Mary will be my daughter. Not Dean’s. Not Sam’s. Maeriel will forget that she ever existed.”

“Maeriel will be expelled from her and extinguished by sun down. You have my word.” Castiel assured.

“And what about before? I mean, Dean, will he …” She stuttered, not even sure what she wanted to ask.

“When they awaken, it won't even have been a dream. There will be no trace of you or the child in their memories. Nor them in ours. This history will be changed in heaven and earth. You may experience what you humans call dejavu. If you meet another Dean, it may pique your interest, but you’ll never know the reason. He may recall some detail of your relationship: perhaps he’ll have a preference for dark hair, but you will be gone from his mind.”

“It’s for Mary, Cassie.” Bryce took her hand.

She nodded once and raised her chin. “One thing. I want them to get back their time.”

Bryce stared at her blankly. 

“I want you to put them back - back the way it was, before … “

He nodded slowly, finally understanding. “Before the desert. Before they ever came back to you.”

She rolled her lips together, and bit them in place, forbidding herself to cry. 

Bryce looked at Castiel. “Can you arrange that?”

The angel nods his vessel’s head. 

“What happens to you?” 

“I’ve fulfilled my responsibility to Mary. She is safe.” Castiel nods with appreciation. “In time, I will receive a new mission. Thanks to you, I’m on earth detail now”

Cassie takes Laurel’s hand. “Can you look after Dean? After both of them.”

Castiel shook her head, reflecting back Cassie’s sadness. “I won't remember them either. This rewrites everything.”

“So, what's going to happen?” Cassie breathed deeply, barely holding back tears.

“A new future.”

Bryce muttered and blended his desiccated plants into half of the offering she had brought: Seed of the Father, or in this case, Fathers.

A low, electric hum filled the room as a bright white light seemed to flow out from Laurel’s hand into the bowl Bryce was holding. The moment the girl withdrew her touch, Bryce turned the remaining contents up to his mouth. 

A bright flash obscured the room in brilliance.

They all blinked at each other. Cassie grimaced at the paraphernalia on the table. “What is all this?”

Bryce shrugged and answered sincerely. “Not sure.” Then, he gawked at Laurel and consulted his watch. “What are you doing here this late, kiddo? Your folks are going to be totally peeved with us. Come on, let me walk you home.”

He grabbed a jacket as he walked the mommy’s helper to the door.

Cassie grinned at the girl in the oversized coat. “You want to keep that?”

Laurel looked down at herself. “Nah. It’s okay. Too big anyway.”

Bryce hung up the trench and smiled up at Cassie as she headed upstairs to check on their daughter.

 

EPILOGUE

Sam sat bolt upright in his bed. “Dean. Dean … Dean.”

His brother’s arm hung out of the bed beside him. Sam shook it to wake him.

Dean yawned and groaned. “What are you doing, man? It’s the middle of the night.” He rubbed his eyes, groggily. 

Sam had already begun to frantically pack his things. “We have to go.”

“What’s happening?” Dean sat up on his elbows, still not entirely awake.

“We have to go… right now. Another crazy dream.” Sam tried to shake the image from his head, but he knew that what he had seen was real and that if they didn’t move now, that man was going to die.

END


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